


Oh Little Angel

by littlemarbles



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Arson, Car Accidents, Denial of Feelings, Hannor, Head Injury, Hospitals, Human AU, I reject your canon and substitute my own, Implied Past Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Possibly Unrequited Love, Rating May Change, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Slow To Update, Sumo is a good boy, Trans Characters By Trans Author, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Whump, animal injury, hand holding, hankcon - Freeform, implied disordered eating, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemarbles/pseuds/littlemarbles
Summary: Hank Anderson has been retired for almost a year now. After going to therapy regularly, taking medication and cutting down just a tad on the drinking, his life seems to be stabilizing more and more by the day. This is until he finds a trail of blood that leads to a well dressed man with amnesia and an open wound on his right temple. The stranger claims to be Hank's "Guardian Angel," and says he can't remember much aside from his name, age, and purpose.





	1. Damaged Goods

**Author's Note:**

> just a self-indulgent side project. gonna probably wind up being real kinky and real angsty. don't say i didn't warn you

"You're full of energy today, aren'tcha?"

Another autumn day, another walk with an old man and his dog. Every day at two in the afternoon, Hank Anderson walked his Saint Bernard around his neighborhood on the same route like clockwork. Having a routine is part of a healthy lifestyle, and while Hank might be a decade or two behind on getting himself back on his feet, he was told it's never too late to want to better yourself.

A cold breeze flowed effortlessly through Hank's rather light jacket, and mussed up his hair, which he actually spent time brushing for once so it didn't look like an unkempt grey mop. He sighed and gave a gentle tug to his dog's leash. Fixing his hair later wouldn't be a problem. Keeping his 200 pound pet from dragging him across the leaf-scattered sidewalk, on the other hand, might keep him on his toes.

"Sumo, no."

Another tug. It looked like he was trying to eat something from someone's lawn, and since Hank didn't want his beloved companion to put any non-dog food items in his mouth, he moved his hand up the lead to keep him closer. It was hard enough keeping Sumo from eating everything Hank dropped around the house- be it potato chips or the remote. Having a whole outside world to shield him from felt overwhelming at times.

"Sumo! I said no!"

Speaking of overwhelming, Hank's behemoth of a dog caught on to the scent of something he really wanted to investigate. This happened more frequently than Hank would like to admit. Three days ago, Sumo lead him to a nest of baby bunnies. A week before that, it was a dumpster behind a restaurant someone had forgotten to empty. And today, Sumo's nose caught wind of neither food nor small, defenseless animals.

Hank held Sumo firmly in place while his eyes processed the scene before him. Rusty red stains splattered the otherwise autumn-themed sidewalk. Another gust of wind kicked up most of the fallen leaves, revealing a few splotches leading behind an abandoned house they walked by almost every day. Part of Hank assumed they were paint- the house _did_ have a red porch, after all. However, with it being abandoned for lord knows how long, the more logical part of him knew the color scattered on the concrete all too well.

He wanted to keep walking. To pretend he didn't see anything. To head back home, turn on his TV and spend the remainder of the evening without a care in the world. He probably would have done exactly that a couple months ago when his empathy was so low it went from scraping the bottom of the barrel to sticking its hand right through and touching the floor below.

Thankfully, even if he managed to shove away the good in him, dogs tend to be inherently good by nature.

"Sumo!!"

Hank's deep, commanding voice could normally make fully grown humans stop in their tracks, so you'd think at the very least, it would slow down a dog. Much to his dismay, Hank was dragged around the corner to greet whatever fresh hell his so-called faithful companion stumbled upon.

A person.

It was a person.

A bloodied, pale, unconscious person in his mid-to-late twenties wearing semi-formal attire with his back against the house and his legs sprawled out on the ground. Blood dripping from the right side of his head aside, he looked as though he recently got back from a big corporate meeting what with his short, tidy hair and pristine clothes and all.

Being a friendly dog with an insatiable appetite for meeting new people, Sumo trotted up to the poor soul and licked one of his hands at his side. Maybe this new friend would want to play after waking up from his nap?

Hank didn't bother pulling Sumo away again. He didn't have his phone on him, so this guy would either have to wake up or Hank would need to sprint home and call an ambulance before anything else happened. He knelt next to him, cursing at the old joints in his knees for aching, and gave him a few taps on the shoulder while minding the blood that'd dripped onto his suit. He looked like he was breathing, at least. Maybe he'd be all right.

"You better not make me run all the way back home," Hank half-joked under his breath, only to feel horrible about it moments later. This guy was someone's son. Someone's boyfriend. Someone's favorite person to be around. And he might not make it home by the end of the day. "Please wake up, kid."

A closer inspection of the gash on the stranger's temple revealed it to be the diameter of a quarter. No doubt whatever caused the injury also left him barely clinging to life. Injuries aside, he also lost quite a bit of blood, though not enough to render him unconscious. Delirious, sure, but not out like a light.

Hank breathed a sigh of relief as the stranger's eyes fluttered open, revealing dark brown iris' to match perfectly with his hair and the occasional beauty mark dotting his face. His eyes darted around, first looking at Sumo, who'd taken to sitting next to him and tilting his head, then looking at Hank, who didn't know what to do since he didn't expect him to wake up so soon.

As quickly as his eyes opened, the stranger shot up from the ground and proceeded to dust off his suit, straighten his tie and fix up his hair as if he didn't have partially dried blood on the side of his face. Such a quick and unpredicted action nearly knocked Hank off balance; half out of shock, and half out of the guy almost colliding with Hank.

Hank stood up as well, albeit not nearly as fast and with more grunting than he would have liked. "Slow down, bud. You should take it easy for-"

"Do you know where I can find a Lieutenant Anderson?"

Despite his gentle voice and direct way of speaking, his words may as well have punched Hank in the gut. Even though Hank stood a full head taller than him, he couldn't shake the feeling of intimidation crawling on his back. When nobody calls you by a certain name for almost a whole year, it can be quite jarring to hear it again, _especially_ if it comes from someone you've never met before.

"Depends on why you want to find him."

"Well-" he reached up to touch the wound on the side of his head, then held his bloodstained fingertips in front of his mouth as if he contemplated poking them between his lips "-my superior told me to locate a Lieutenant Hank Anderson for reasons I probably shouldn't explain to a stranger." He rubbed his bloodied fingers together before turning his full attention to Hank. His eyes beamed with enthusiasm, though his lips refused to bend into a smile, leaving him to look rather robotic. "Any help would be greatly appreciated. I was told he had a dog, so I'd like to find him... right away..."

Hank could see the realization wash over him in a small wave as he looked at Hank, then at Sumo, then back at Hank with shining eyes. If this guy had been given any sort of description of Hank, which was more than likely since he knew about Sumo, he probably already had a general idea of what he looked like and only needed another big piece of evidence to stitch everything together.

"Hello! My name is Connor-" he extended a hand, to which Hank automatically shook out of habit "-I've been assigned to be your Guardian Angel."

Hank's hand stopped mid-shake. His _what_ now? Poor thing must have been hit in the head harder than he thought. "You, uh... You wanna run that last part by me again?"

"My name is Connor. I have been assigned to be your Guardian Angel."

"Uh-huh." Hank retrieved his hand and patted down his pockets just in case he actually did have his phone on him. He wasn't worried about Connor hurting him or being dangerous, but he **was** concerned for his mental health. "Tell you what. How 'bout we call up an ambulance and have some nice doctors check your head out? That cut must hurt like a bitch."

Connor reached up once more to touch his previously bleeding temple. "I can't feel pain, but if having a doctor look me over would make you feel more comfortable about me, then I'll gladly follow suit."

_I can't feel pain._

"Yep. Okay. C'mon, we're going right now before anything else happens." He tightened his grip around Sumo's leash before gesturing with his free hand for Connor to follow him. "We should probably call up someone close to you while we're at it. Do you know your parents' number? Maybe a friend's, even?"

"No. I don't," Connor stated plainly as he walked at Hank's side. For someone who recently woke up from being bludgeoned in the head, he managed to walk perfectly fine. "Come to think of it, I can't remember much of anything before you woke me up."

And that right there is what kicked Hank into overdrive. It's bad enough when you find a half-dead person and he acts like nothing is wrong. It's bad enough when said person knows your name, your dog's name and your previous title. It's **bad enough** when the same weirdo claims he's your Guardian Angel. And yet, somehow, it got worse. On top of probably being an escaped mental patient who knew too much and got whacked in the head, _it got worse_.

Hank grabbed onto Connor's wrist and picked up the pace. He hoped he wouldn't be moving too fast for him, though if he couldn't keep up, Hank could easily carry him. Thankfully, he kept up relatively well for someone out of his damn mind.

"Can you tell me what you _do_ remember?"

Connor briefly shut his eyes. "My name is Connor. I'm twenty-eight years old. I'm Hank Anderson's Guardian Angel. And I... I'm supposed... to..."

The edges of Connor's vision quickly went from somewhat blurry to pitch black as his line of sight rapidly closed in until he could only see whatever rested directly in front of him. He struggled to regain his footing as the world felt as though it dissolved to sand beneath his feet. Not wanting to drag Hank down with him, he sharply yanked his hand away from him before tumbling forward and just barely managing to shield his fall with his arms.

Hank's hand grasped at nothing. He reached out a moment too late. A second too late. Late enough for the fabric of his suit to graze the tips of his fingers as Connor collapsed into an unmoving mess on the concrete. Leaves scattered around him as he felt, making it appear as if they moved out of the way for him.

Hank cursed under his breath. He pushed him too hard. He made him move too fast. He should have known to take things more slowly. He should have offered to carry him in the first place. Hank could feel a heavy guilt nestle in the pit of his stomach, though he refused to acknowledge it for the time being. Nothing productive would come of giving up and sobbing out in public. Hank had a chance to fix something for once, and goddammit _he was going to fix it._

With Sumo's lead wrapped around his wrist, Hank leaned over, swore up and down at his aching back and legs, and scooped Connor into his arms to carry him bridal-style. He kept Connor's head propped up on his shoulder for both comfort and to keep his blood flowing in the right direction. He felt... a lot lighter than he expected. And while Hank may be stronger than your average man, he had a sneaking suspicion Connor may have been underweight.

Hank shook his head. He could worry about the eating habits of a stranger once he got him to a hospital. The only real obstacle would be fishing his keys from his pocket without dropping the man in his arms.

"It's gonna be one of those days, Sumo."


	2. Altruism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support! I'm gonna try and develop an interesting plot for you, m'kay? Hang in there.
> 
> I already said this on my Twitter, but I'll be going on vacation fairly soon so updates will take a cool minute. In the meantime, feel free to... I dunno... read this. Maybe. If you want.

"You've reached 9-1-1. What is your emergency?"

At last, Hank managed to stumble his way inside and finally located his phone. Even with Sumo walking between his legs and Connor nearly slipping from his arms before he could be placed on a couch in the living room, he managed to get it without any casualties. For a while he thought he was going to wind up falling into his bookshelf or TV while carrying Connor in his arms. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on his side for the time being.

"Yeah, uh- I found this guy by my house with a nasty head injury."

Connor looked so peaceful with his back on the couch. Hank had propped his head up with some pillows and kept his arms on his abdomen so Sumo wouldn't lick them again. This sight of his chest slowly rise and fall in a steady, predictable manner put Hank's mind at ease, even with all the dried blood.

The sound of typing and a woman's voice could be heard on the other end. "Is this person at your current location, sir?"

Hank paced back and forth as he spoke. Nothing felt natural about the call. After being the law's puppet for ages, he thought he might be able to do more than make a pathetic sounding phone call. "He's unconscious on my couch right now. It's- it's a long story." But apparently not.

More typing. "And you brought this man into your home? Do you know this person at all?"

"No, he-"

_He's gone is what he is._

No, seriously, where the hell did Connor go? Hank twisted his head around. Nothing. Legs scrambled as he searched behind the couch, in the kitchen, behind the fridge-

"Sir? Are you still there?"

The sudden voice accompanied by the static of Hank's old flip-phone made his stomach jump a little. "Yeah, I'm here. But. You know." He forced out a nervous chuckle. " _He's_ not."

"What do you mean? Did he leave?"

"He- He couldn't have gone far, he could hardly walk a minute ago."

Speaking of walking, Hank could hear Sumo stomping up a storm in his bedroom. Part of Hank was overjoyed knowing where Connor would be. Another part of him swore that he'd beat the hell out of him if he wasn't on the verge of collapse already.

Hank entered his bedroom and immediately froze. His once undone and messy been had been made perfectly with the blanket tucked in at the corners. The piles of dirty clothes were tossed into the basket where they belonged. His shelves and nightstand looked as if someone recently dusted them and organized the various magazines and knick-knacks adorning them.

The culprit stood at the end of Hank's bed with Hank's supposed faithful companion at his feet, drooling and wagging his tail at his newest friend. Connor stood perfectly still aside from blinking every now and again, with his hands behind his straight back. His plain, pale face held no expression, leaving him to look somewhat troubled.

"Did you find him, sir?"

Again, the voice nearly made Hank drop his phone. "...Please send over an ambulance."

"They'll be there soon."

Hank pocketed his phone after saying his thanks. He then had to find a way to deal with the current situation before him and the betrayal of his dog who should have alerted him to Connor's activities sooner.

"Good evening, Lieutenant."

"...Heya, Connor." Hank looked at his dog then back up at Connor. "Whatcha doing?"

"Cleaning."

"I can see that," Hank said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sit down. And don't get up until the ambulance gets here."

Connor took a seat at the edge of the bed. His feet dangled an inch or so off the ground, and his hands folded neatly in his lap. "If you don't mind me saying this," he began in an attempt to rid the awkward silence filling the room, "I'm rather impressed by your ability to carry me for any extended period of time."

"That so?" Hank sat next to him, causing the bed to creak as he sank into the soft fabric- meanwhile, Connor barely made a dent where he sat. "You didn't expect a gross old man to have that kinda strength, huh?"

"No no, that's not what I'm saying at all! I simply consider myself to be somewhat heavy and-" his eyes squeezed shut mid-sentence while he briefly shook his head "-you're not old or gross. Not that my personal opinions matter."

A knock on the door snapped Hank out of his thoughts. Connor stood up, nearly toppling over in the process. Hank managed to grab onto the collar of his suit to get him standing straight as soon as he saw him reel, then stepped over Sumo and lead Connor to the front door without any other obstructions.

Waiting outside, the EMTs already had a stretcher ready, and as much as the kind individuals insisted on helping Connor into it, he assured them he could do so himself.

"You're not coming?"

His  voice came out with a slight crack. Hank looked back at him in the back of the ambulance, and while his face still held little expression, his puppy eyes sad enough.

Connor tensed up at the lack of immediate response. "I know you don't like hospitals. My apologies."

He may not have meant to, but **that** right there? Made Hank feel guilty as all hell. Guilty enough for him to ask if he could get a ride with him. He considered taking his car for a second, only to remember he could call a cab and not have to worry about running into anyone that way.

"Are you related to this man in any way?"

Hank ran a hand through messy silver hair. "If I say yes, will you let me on?"

"Yes, but-"

"Yeah. Move over."

* * *

 

_I know you don't like hospitals._

Connor knowing this personal fact aside, it was the understatement to end all understatements.

Hank **hated** hospitals. He hated the way the smelled. The way they looked. The fake cleanliness that covered up disease, injury, and heartache. He hated how the doctors and nurses would lie to your face and tell you everything would be okay. He hated the seemingly endless sounds of wheelchairs being pushed and the finite beeping of heart monitors.

And yet.

There Hank stood.

Outside a room without a door.

Talking to a doctor (Or was he a nurse? Hank already forgot) as he swiped a finger across his tablet every now and then. The ol' paper and clipboards seemed to have faded into obscurity over the years in favor of tablets, and not just for hospitals. They replaced magazines, newspapers, books... Hank never understood the appeal.

"Can I ask if you found anything about Connor, or do I have to be his uncle or somethin' for you to tell me?"

Without looking up from his tablet, the doctor (nurse?) replied, "We haven't found any records on him yet. No fingerprints match his, nor could we find any DNA matches." He glanced up at Hank. "It's like the kid just fell from the sky."

Hank blinked in surprise. "Is there really nothing? No relatives?"

He pursed his lips as his index finger dragged across his tablet's brigty-lit screen. "I wouldn't say we found _nothing_." He tapped the corner of the screen, to which several documents popped up. "We know he's malnourished and that he's in his late twenties."

"That's kinda obvious thou-"

"He's trans, and judging by the scars on his chest, we can say he had top surgery almost three years ago."

"Wai-"

"He's fluent in both German and Spanish."

"I didn't as-"

"His blood type changed the first two times we checked it before finally settling on A Positive."

Hank held up his hands defensively. "Hold on! I didn't ask you to spill all his personal details to me!"

"I just thought you'd like to know how interesting he is."

That smile on his face wasn't helping, and Hank knew for a fact that he broke several rules, if not laws with all the information he dumped.

"Hank? Connor wants to see you."

A female nurse poked her head out of the room in the nick of time. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could sleep the rest of the day away. Maybe he'd forget it entirely if he slept long enough.

Hank could feel his skin crawl as he entered the unnaturally sterile room. It felt familiar in all the wrong ways; the bright lights, the faint smell of chemicals, the persistent beeping.

"Thank you for coming with me, Lieutenant."

Connor sat upright in his bed of white sheets. The blood had been cleaned from his face, revealing a few more beauty marks near his eye and on his jawline. His right temple held a set of neat and tidy stitches. His suit was nowhere to be seen and had been replaced with your typical open-back hospital garb. An IV drip ran from his arm and stopped next to the source the beeping that drove Hank mad. Despite all the changes, Connor's short and professional-looking hair stayed exactly the same.

"Don't mention it," he said as if the crushing anxiety of being in a hospital wasn't going to break him at any moment. "How ya feeling?"

"About as well as when you found me. Although..." He extended him left arm. Various bruises and splotches of discoloration showed where the doctors and nurses had poked and prodded him for testing, as well as where his IV had been stuck. "...my arm feels strange. And I miss my clothes."

The nurse from before gestured for Hank to speak with her for a moment. "I wanted to let you know that Connor is doing exceptionally well for someone who probably hasn't eaten a proper meal in a week." She briefly looked down at her phone, or maybe it was just a really small tablet. All technology started looking the same to him after 2015. "For someone like him with literally no records, he might need to be fill out his own birth certificate if we can't locate any relatives. After that, he'll be bouncing back between here, the mental treatment center next door and the homeless shelter down the street."

"I... appreciate the information, but you're talking to me like I know the guy."

The nurse's eyes momentarily went wide. "Oh, I'm so sorry! He talked so much about you I thought he was your friend." She tried laughing if off, only to make the sinking pit in Hank's stomach even deeper. "Nonetheless, we're hoping that with enough therapy and a good diet, things will eventually come back to him."

Hank sighed a breath of relief and looked over to Connor, a slight smile seen through his scruffy beard. Connor met his gaze and gave him a little wave from across the room, to which Hank waved back.

"It's good to know being bonked on the head won't completely ruin his life."

"Ah, you see- that's the thing..."

Hank looked back at the nurse with narrow eyes. "What's up? You had nothing but positive shit to say a second ago."

She sunk back into herself a little. Who could blame her? Hank looked like a big, tough guy who'd break you in half with little effort. Not that he would, but she didn't know that. "We're pretty sure his amnesia was caused by trauma and not due to his head injury."

"Whaddaya mean?"

Her clenched jaw didn't set the mood well. "Long story short, he wasn't struck hard enough to have a concussion, and he didn't bleed enough to pass out. His unconsciousness was caused by dehydration and starvation."

Hank mentally took a step back. His head hurt and the horribly bright lights above him were **not** helping the situation **nor** his pounding headache. His mind automatically went to the worst places when wondering what lead Connor to pass out, bloodied and starving, behind a house that'd been empty for ages. Not to mention how he used to investigate similar scenes back before he retired.

"Connor," Hank stormed up to the side of Connor's bed, and probably looked scary as hell doing so, but instead of flinching or backing away, Connor looked up at him with anticipation. "As soon as you get the chance, I want you to call me when you're out of here." He rifled through his pockets for some scrap paper and a pen- rarities in this modern age, then haphazardly scribbled out his digits in blue ink, using the nearby wall as a flat surface, before handing it to Connor. "Don't lose this. All right?"

Connor took the bit of paper from Hank's fingers as if he'd been handed a thousand dollars in cash. **Don't lose this.**  Hank wanted him to call, and call is what he'd do. He'd call as soon as he could. Immediately. No matter what.

"Got it."


	3. Resonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my name's ty and the english language is bullshit
> 
> also
> 
> remember how i said i was going on a trip and might not update?
> 
> apparently. i get bursts of writing energy right before i have Important Things to do
> 
> uhh.... anyway,,, enjoy this thing

Worry.

Worry, worry, worry.

You'd think retiring from a dangerous and traumatizing line of work would allow said retiree to maybe relax a little and not stress over strangers appearing from nowhere.

Not so.

Hank worred on his way out of the hospital. He worried the entire cab ride home. He worried as he walked up to his home and stepped through the front door. He only managed to calm down in the slightest after Sumo sat on his feet and refused to move until he got the pets he deserved.

While it didn't solve all his problems, running your hands through a big ol' dog's thick fur always helped. He was like an oversized weighted blanket. With paws. And a mouth. And a tail.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. Hank cannot pet his dog forever. This is the sad reality of the world we live in. Helping a stranger pushed lunchtime back by nearly an hour, which threw off his entire schedule. Whether he wanted to or not, he needed to eat. Plus, a nice meal might get his mind off the craziness of the day.

Hank dully thought about inviting Connor over for dinner once he got his life straightened out a bit. Of course, this would have to be after he inevitably realizes he's not an angel. He could handle religious folks and people with a few screws loose- hell, he was both of those things to one degree or another. But a man who legitimately believes he's a deity? Too rich even for Hank's blood.

"This isn't doggy food, boy."

Bacon and eggs. Perfect for lunch if you're not a coward who only eats breakfast items before noon. The only downside to having such a wonderful meal was Sumo's begging at his side. Hank couldn't be mad at him, though. It was his fault he begged for food in the first place since puppy eyes worked wonders on his ever thawing heart.

Hank nearly launched his frying pan across the kitchen at the sound of his phone ringing on full volume. Did Connor manage to call him already? He would have assumed it'd take at least a couple hours. God, what would he eve say to him? He didn't think that far ahead. He considered asking him how he knew so much about Hank, though he'd probably use omnipotence or something as an excuse.

A familiar voice flowed through the phone's speaker, though not the one Hank expected to hear.

"Hank! You didn't come to your appointment today. Is everything all right?"

"Kamski, when I tell you it's been a day, I cannot stress the absolute **bullshit** I went through."

"By all means, stress!" It sounded as though he held something small between his lips as he spoke, such as a pen or a cigarette. "It's what you pay me for, you know."

Hank then rattled off the events that took place during and after his daily walk; finding Connor, all the weird shit he said, the doctor who didn't know how to shut his mouth. Rambling about it to him felt a lot more satisfying than it did whenever he went on and on about him problems to Sumo.

"You know-" Kamski took whatever it was out of his mouth and continued speaking as the sound of pots and pans clunked in the background "-very common ways of dealing with abuse are escapism and selective amnesia."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say anything like that."

You could practically _hear_ Kamski shrug. "What did you expect? For me, possibly the best therapist in Detroit, _not_ to analyze a mysterious angel-man you found on the street? You should know better by now."

The sound of more clanging came through the speaker. Meanwhile, Hank relocated his breakfast for lunch onto a large plate. Sumo whined and danced around his feet while he made his way to the kitchen table instead of eating at the counter like an animal. "You makin' a cake over there?"

"Not cake-" a loud _fwoosh_ could be heard, similar to that of a large blanket being fanned out over a bed "-Lovely.  I'll see you next week, all right?" He held the phone away from his face, and Hank could vaguely hear him shout- "Chloe, dear? Fetch the fire extinguisher for me, please."

Hank hung up after that. No good was going to come of him listening to someone so smart struggle to make spaghetti.

"You're not gettin' anything," Hank said plainly to his drooling friend at his side. The talk was more for himself and less for the dog. Stay strong, Hank. Bacon probably isn't good for dogs. Don't give in to those eyes, you old fool.

Sumo's ears twitched and swiveled towards the front door. He could hear someone approaching, and since he couldn't tell who it was, he happily trotted up to it in hopes of making his second new friend of the day.

Hank wanted to ignore Sumo and continue with his meal. This was thick bacon we're talking about here. High quality shit. And his dog walking around wouldn't get in the way of him enjoying the greasy goodness. His doorbell being pressed and held for a solid thirty seconds, on the other hand, got him out of his seat fairly quickly. Thick cuts of bacon, god dammit! Who dared disturb such a sacred meal? Kamski? No, he rarely left his office or his big fancy house, and Hank doubted he'd call him just to come over anyway. A previous coworker, then? That one guy he busted for hiding in the vents of a school after he'd been stuck there for over a day?

"I was unable to find a phone to call you with."

Lo and behold, the man of the evening. Wearing a suit without a stain and a head without dried blood, and hands held behind his back, Connor stood at Hank's doorstep like he belonged there

"I can understand if my presence makes you uneasy or if you do not trust me," he said before Hank could get a word out. "So if you have any questions, I will answer them honestly."

It was oh, so tempting to shut the door then and there. It was even _more_ tempting to let the poor guy inside and make him something to eat.

"How did you know I don't like hospitals?"

Out of everything Connor told him so far, him knowing about Hank's somewhat recently developed nosocomephobia bothered him the most. He expressed this to Kamski not too long ago, and with him being a computer genius and all, Hank doubted anyone on Earth would be able to get access to information he only ever told one individual.

"I'm unsure of this." He closed his eyes momentarily. "It seemed as natural as knowing my own name."

The scales in Hank's mind tilted towards the _close the door_ option, which sounded pretty good at the time since he could practically feel Sumo staring down his still warm meal.

"However-" Connor reached up to adjust his tie, revealing the knuckles on his left hand to be bruised and dotted with small scrapes "-I did not want to bring this up, but I know **why** you don't like them. I know why you can't stand the sound of heart monitors and why you _refuse_ to go anywhere near pediatricians." Connor bit the inside of his cheek. God, he didn't want to reopen any wounds but he **needed** Hank to know he didn't learn everything about him from a friend. "You've lost someone very dear to you far too soon."

Nobody.

Not a soul.

Not even his therapist knew outright why he disliked hospitals. Sure, it'd been implied, and Kamski probably already knew why since that's kind of his job, but it was never said so bluntly. Ever. Not even in deep, meaningful conversations with the people he trusted the most.

Hank's soul may as well have left his body. He wanted to believe that Connor was just a figment of his imagination, and that he'd finally gone mad after years of slowly trying to kill himself. Maybe his grip on reality snapped at last. He figured it'd only be a matter of time before he started seeing shit, though he never would have expected such an elaborate mental breakdown.

"Fuck it." Hank stepped aside to let Connor in. If he knew about... _**that**_... and how it really got to him, then Connor must have also known he had nothing left to lose. "You'll catch a cold standing out there."

"I don't think I would mind being sick," Connor explained as he stepped inside. "But thank you. Your concern means the world to me, Lieutenant."

His words echoed in Hank's head until his face heated up. How long had it been since someone treated him so nicely? The sad thing is that Connor didn't even act overly flattering, and yet his words affected Hank's affection-starved mind far more than they should have.

Hank shook his head. It wasn't the time to get flustered over a fairly attractive guy stroking his ego a bit. First things first, he wanted to try and help get Connor down to reality.

Or.

Maybe that could wait until he finished eating his lukewarm lunch.

Connor stood in the middle of the living room, feeling unsure as of what to do while Hank ate. His own stomach growled deeply. The nice people at the hospital tried getting him to eat something, but everything they gave him either had too much fat or too much sugar for his liking. They convinced him to down some mashed potatoes, though they didn't stay in his system for very long.

"Judging by that unholy sound your stomach just made," Hank began as he got up from his seat to rifled through his fridge, "I should probably get you something to eat. You like bacon?"

Connor shook his head. "I apologize for being a picky eater, Lieutenant. Meat isn't something I recall ever enjoying."

"You're fine." Hank moved a jug of milk and a variety of yogurt cups around on one of the shelves. "We've got, uhh... yogurt, vegan protein shakes, a cucumber I need to finish... I could always order some food." As he closed the fridge, Hank flinched hard after realizing Connor had silently moved from the living room to stand within reaching distance.

"Aren't you being overly friendly with a person you only met today?"

Hank shrugged. "I got nothin' better to do until next week. Unless you want me to kick you out..."

"No, I-" his voice initially came out sounding desperate, then quickly returned to being vaguely robotic after he noticed. "-I... am very grateful for your kindness. I worry you trust too easily is all. What if I'm a murderer?"

Hank transferred his plate to the sink as Connor spoke. While he _did_ have a point, he underestimated Hank's ability to willingly not give a damn about his own well being. "You would've done something already if you were dangerous, and I've wrestled off starved drug dealers who'd probably put up a better fight than you. No offense."

Connor's bruised hand reached up to touch his neck. His body did, in fact, feel dramatically more frail than an average human his age and height. And with Hank being built like a house _plus_ all his experience on the job, he, hypothetically, wouldn't stand a chance against a person even half his size. "No offense taken."

"Good. Great. Now, whaddaya in the mood for?"


	4. Lazy Evening

"So... you ever gonna elaborate on the whole angel thing, or..?"

Hank waited very, very patiently for the right opportunity to ask his awkward question. By the time he managed to sputter it out, he'd already convinced Connor to sit with him on his couch, ordered a vegetarian flatbread pizza, and he finally got him to eat. Granted, Connor only took a few bites, but some food in him was better than no food at all.

Connor scratched the side of his cheek with his index finger. "There are still a lot of holes, Lieutenant. I worry what I tell you won't leave you satisfied."

Hank leaned forward, his slouch contrasting greatly with Connor's ability to sit perfectly upright for a frightening amount of time. "Gimme _something_ to work with here."

He started down at his lap as he drummed his fingers on his knee. "These are very vague memories... I remember a lovely garden, and an authority figure telling me what to do. I suppose we could interpret this as heaven..?" He looked over at Hank from the corner of his eye, wondering if he should go on.

"So, you mean like a _literal_ angel, right? This isn't just a title?"

Connor nodded. "Correct. And I was sent to... ah..." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm... here to keep you safe."

Hank felt tempted to reach over and pat him on the shoulder. Whatever he remembered, it looked like it may have been fairly unpleasant. Though instead of putting his hands on someone he barely knew, he scooched in a little closer and sat up to try and mimic his body language.

Speaking of vibes, Hank's phone buzzed in his pocket. Flipping open the device showed he had several messages from his therapist.

 **Kamski:** it's kamski! you remember how to text, right?  
**Kamski:** i wanted you to send me a pic of connor next time you see him  
**Kamski:** what if i know him? what if one of my clients knows him?

For a solid minute, Hank struggled to find out how to compose a response, how to actually type it out, and how to send it. Why couldn't he just call him?

 **Hank:** He is here right now. How do I take pictures and send them to you?

Kamski replied almost instantly.

 **Kamski:** lmao hold on  
**Kamski:** also you text like an old man

While Hank and his therapist send messages back and forth, Connor contemplated drinking the glass of milk sitting on the coffee table. Hank brought it out for him and he hadn't even tasted it yet. He didn't want to be rude and just leave it there, but he also didn't want to risk drinking it without first testing if it'd gone bad. He trusted Hank, of course, though his paranoia got the better of him.

Instead of bringing the glas to his mouth like a normal, non-goblin person, Connor barely dipped his index and middle finger into the liquid, brought it up to his parted lips and touched his fingers to his tongue. Aside from the milk being lukewarm, he couldn't detect anything being wrong with it.

"Hey Con-"

Hank looked up from his phone at just the right time and witnessed Connor's unusual behaviour in all its glory.

"...Anyway. Can I take your picture and show it to my therapist? He's got connections and might be able to help."

"Of course."

Hank attempted to take a decent picture of him for a solid five minutes. The first few were far too blurry. The next pair depicted Connor blinking. The final one came out just right with Connor's hands folded and with minimal blur. It still looked heavily pixelated because of Hank's outdated device, though it would have to do.

Again, Kamski responded scary fast.

 **Kamski:** OH MY GOD??? HE'S SO CUTE??????  
**Kamski:** LOOK AT THOSE LITTLE BIRTHMARKS ON HIS FACE HOLY SHIT???  
**Kamski:** if i were in your shoes i woulda stuck my tongue in his mouth by now tbh

A loud, defeated sigh could be heard come from Hank as splayed fingers covered his eyes. He looked over to where Connor sat, hoping to make light of his therapist's perverted comment, only to temporarily panic after noticing him missing. The sound of running water turned his attention over the pony wall dividing his kitchen from the living room, and through the lattice he could see Connor's figure standing over the sink as he, presumably, washed whatever dishes were there. Hank's eyes then fell on the clean coffee table which no longer held a box of pizza and glass of milk. No crumbs or condensation from the glass were visible.

Yet another message caused the phone to buzz in Hank's hand.

 **Kamski:** lemme talk to him. i bet his voice is cute too

 **Hank:** No. You'll freak him out.

 **Kamski:** don't be greedy!! i should talk to him anyway bc he needs a professional psychological evaluation  
**Kamski:** at least describe his voice. you're killing me here T_T

Another sigh. _Fine._ If Mister Elijah "I fall for any remotely attractive man I see" Kamski wanted details, then he was going to get **details**.

 **Hank:** His voice is extremely cute. He speaks in a really professional manner while sounding kind of subservient.

Kamski responded immediately- not even three seconds later -with a handful of messages containing several key smashes, a dozen or so crying emojis and a bunch of other stuff Hank didn't understand but made him smile nonetheless.

Careful what you wish for.

"Thank you for treating me so kindly."

Connor managed to wander into Hank's line of sight moments after he pocketed his phone.

"Hey, no problem." Hank stood up, silently cursing at his sore knees once again. "What're your plans now? If you need to go back to the hospital, I can give you a ride."

Connor raised a hand. "No, thank you." He looked over at a window by the front door and took a mental note of the time. "I'm going to be walking to the homeless shelter and fall into the first bed I see. From there, my plan is to head to the medical clinic."

Hank could feel a slight ache in his chest. He couldn't believe Connor walked all the way to his home. A four mile hike wouldn't have been much of a problem for him, but for someone like Connor who hadn't eaten anything in ages? It seemed like a miracle.

"If you're tired, you can spend the night here and I'll drive you in the morning."

He wasn't sure why he said that. Perhaps the combination of sympathy and the remnants of his previous job of helping people that made those words drop from his mouth like heavy stones. He didn't regret what he said, though a normal human being probably wouldn't have made such an offer to a person who very well may be their stalker.

A brief twinkle of enthusiasm could be seen in Connor's otherwise emotionless eyes. "Are you sure that would be okay? I'd like to stay near you, but your comfort is more important than anything else."

"S'fine. And you don't have to stay just because I suggested it. I ain't letting you walk again, though."

"Then I'd like to stay, if it's really fine by you."

Hank shrugged "The couch is better than those cots they have at the shelter. I'll get you a blanket, arright?"

After gathering a soft blanket and a pillow, Hank realized Connor probably wouldn't want to sleep in his suit. At the very least, he wanted to offer him a change of clothes for the night. While all his clothes would be far too big for him to wear as regular outfits, an oversized shirt and some sweatpants would make for some cozy pajamas. He considered grabbing some underwear only to decide against it seconds after the idea popped into his head.

Back in the living room, Connor was found passed out on the couch in a similar position as earlier. Sumo rested on the floor by his side and didn't even lift his head up to look at Hank as he placed the bedding and articles of clothing on the nearby coffee table. With both of them fast asleep, Hank would have to find something aside from television to occupy the rest of his evening if he didn't want to disturb them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back  
> hewwo  
> short chapter is short  
> forgive me pls i swear the next one will have more stuff in it


	5. Impact

"Good morning, Lieutenant."

Hank couldn't quite place his finger on why his mood plummeted after waking up the next day. The interruption of his daily routine could be the source of the depression that clung to his body like a wet blanket,though he really didn't want that to be the case. After going to therapy for what seemed like ages, he thought he'd gotten past days where he woke up and wanted to shoot himself between the eyes before anything bad actually happened.

How unfortunate for him to feel absolutely rotten while having such kind company.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted breakfast, so I haven't made anything yet."

At least Connor seemed to be helping. He woke up before sunrise, changed into the comfortable shirt he'd been given then proceeded to deep clean the entire house minus Hank's room. Not a spot could be seen on any of the floors or other surfaces. No dog hair stuck in corners. No stains on the stove. No crumbs nor dust.

"Coffee," Hank grumbled as he shuffled over to the still hot pot of magical caffeine. His eyes and heart were set on having a steaming mug of bitter energy, which is why he didn't bat an eye at Connor's attire until he finally took a sip.

Connor wasn't wearing any pants.

Granted, the oversized shirt Hank let him borrow could be worn as a short dress on him, but that's not the issue here. Since the old Detroit Tigers shirt only came down to about his knees, Hank could very clearly see Connor's black socks and matching calf-high garters accompanying them. The way his shirt hung off him didn't help. With it being fucking gigantic on a normal person, the collar effortlessly slipped over his left shoulder to expose quite a bit of skin. Hank reflexively averted his eyes only for them to land back on his shoulder after noticing something that he first thought was another beauty mark.

A scar?

A small, circular scar rested below Connor's collar bone. With the way the discoloration looked, one could assume it to be the result of a burn.

"Just let me know when you're ready to go," Connor said right as Hank gathered up the courage to ask if he remembered how he got a burn in the shape of a near-perfect circle.

"Lemme finish this and we'll be off."

Connor momentarily rocked on his heels before engaging in small talk. The way he started speaking made him sound unusually meek; his voice was quiet and lacked the overall confidence Hank knew so far. After Hank assured him he could talk about basically anything by responding honestly and as non-threateningly as he could muster, his voice regained its professional tone.

"I've actually been awake since four," Connor stated while fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I hope you don't mind all the cleaning."

"Are you kiddin' me? I'm not passing up on someone who isn't me cleaning up my messes." Hank took one last mouthful of coffee, rinsed his cup then wandered back into his room. "I'm gettin' dressed. You should probably do the same."

"Got it."

* * *

 

"May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?"

Hank still recoiled internally at being called Lieutenant, though he found himself unable to tell Connor to stop. It felt nice to be addressed by such a respectable title again. "Shoot."

Connor looked out the window of the passenger's seat as he spoke. The passing scenery of long abandoned factories dusted with dead leaves and broken glass caught his eye before he managed to get a word out. "I get the feeling you aren't in the best mood today. Is there a reason why?"

Some idiot in a green volkswagen cut Hank off right as he made a turn, forcing him to slam on the breaks and causing his seatbelt to dig into his chest. He fought the urge to scream at the stranger and instead vented his frustrations by gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "Didn't have a reason 'til now," he growled.

"They must have gotten their license from a cereal box."

As bad as that was, it forced a smile out of Hank. It'd been too long since he heard any sort of joke out of someone that didn't revolve around sex or self depreciation. The sincerity and pure intentions of Connor's comment made it feel like a breath of fresh air, but to his ears. Like the strum of an acoustic guitar, perhaps. Or the flow of a shallow, gentle river.

His voice, as soft and sweet as it may have sounded, suddenly shifted to a louder, more frantic tone a second too late.

"Lieute-!"

Blackness.

Pitch blackness.

The car. The road. The buildings. Everything. Like the flick of a lightswitch, the world around Hank went dark in an instant. Any attempt to look around or open his eyes resulted in a splitting headache and unbearable chest pain. He couldn't hear himself breath. He couldn't hear the engine of the car or how the wheels rolled across the pavement. The only things keeping Hank from completely slipping away was the ringing in his ears and the soreness of his body.

The more Hank focused on the ringing, the quieter it became until he managed to pick up on whatever was happening around him. He could hear the sizzle of something burning. The crackle of glass shards beneath shoes. The air rushing around cars passing by.

A voice.

Hank's eyes snapped open, revealing a scene far too familiar for comfort. Blood smeared on the airbag his head rested on. The window next to him had been cracked with bright red blood running down the splinters. The smell of oil and smoke further agitated his headache, making him wish he could die then and there just for the pain to stop.

Everything was too intense. The sun above blinded him. The smells stabbed at his bleeding skull. The only saving grace came from a calm voice to his left as it told him he was going to be all right.

His door opened. A blurry figure leaned over Hank to undo his seatbelt. Then, with the strength Hank once possessed, the figure lifted him out of the smoldering mess of his car with ease. He would have immediately began bitching about the sun in his eyes again if the person weren't standing perfectly in its path.

"Can you hear me, Lieutenant?"

The sound of light rain. Of a campfire crackling as a gentle breeze passed through. Of leaves being raked on a sunny autumn afternoon. The voice alone eased Hank's headache and made the cold air around him all the more bearable. He wanted them to keep talking for an eternity, or at least until he bled out.

"Loud and clear."

He thought he saw them smile as the sun beating on their back gave their lithe body a bright yellow outline. "Good. That's good. Can you stay awake until help gets here?"

Hank groaned. While the ground below him was uncomfortably hard, his head resting on the person's lap made up for it quite a bit. "I'll stay awake if you keep talking."

A nervous chuckle. "I can try, but I am unsure as to what to talk about."

As hard as he tried to focus on their face, Hank just couldn't see much more than a dark blur of a vague humanoid shape. Everything else around him looked so clear; the nearly bare trees, the cars driving by, the clouds... and yet he couldn't see their face. "Anything. Talk about anything, honey."

Another laugh.

_Honey._

"You must have hit your head pretty hard, Lieutenant. Do you normally give pet names to men you met a day ago?"

Hank squinted. "Do I know you..?"

"Oh... Not really, no. But I've given you my name already." The sound of approaching sirens made their head turn away from Hank. "Is it okay for me to accompany you to the hospital?"

Hank physically cringed at the word _hospital_. As tempting as it felt to proclaim he'd rather be dead, he didn't want his last moments to be spent on someone's lap, let alone the lap of such a kind individual. "Don't let 'em cut me open unless they have to, okay?"


	6. Nonchalant

Headache.

A pounding, splitting headache that'd make even the most resilient among us double over in pain. What little of the hospital room Hank saw around him fluctuated and flickered into stark white with every beat of his heart. His pulse pounded like a hammer hitting a crooked nail into the side of his skull- thud, thud, thud. If he had the ability to stop his heart at will, he would have done so even before he opened his eyes.

Right as the pain grew too much for a single man to handle, a wave of numbness washed over him, starting at his chest and moving up to his head. Like concrete poured into a crack, it became less and less noticeable as time marched on. As much as Hank absolutely despised hospitals and everything associated with them, he had to admit the meds they gave him were top notch.

Soon enough, the lack of a constant, throbbing ache allowed Hank to focus more clearly on the unfamiliar bed he woke up in...

...And the person sitting beside it.

"You snore like an absolute monster."

The man.

The myth.

The thirsty.

Elijah Kamski.

Your average middle-aged white guy with a shaved undercut and a man bun holding up his short, black hair. As usual, he wore a thick pair of glasses with black frames, a white dress shirt and tie minus the overcoat, and a pair of dark blue jeans Hank swore he either never changed or had a dozen sets of. He looked identical to a generic villain who just so happens to own a handful of corporations, though the most evil thing he ever managed to do was reprogram one of his roombas to only clean up things if they were blue.

"The hell're you doing here?"

Whatever cocktail drugs the doctors put Hank on to keep him from screaming caused his words to sound slightly... off. The world around him felt somewhat out of focus, as did his sentences when they came out of his mouth. While not something Hank enjoyed, he preferred it over most forms of physical pain.

"According to Connor, I'm the only person in your emergency contacts.

Hank blinked slowly, narrowing his eyes at Kamski and his ridiculous, nonsensical words. "Conn..."

Connor.

Hank shot up to sit straight- an action that would have caused him to bitch and moan about his back any other day. "Where's Connor? Is he okay?"

Taken aback by his sudden outburst, Kamski flinched then tried to play it cool by leaning back in his seat. "He's fine. He's probably wandering around with Chloe right now."

A sense of relief filled Hank's partially numbed head. In the moment he remembered Connor accompanied him during the accident, his heart about leapt into his throat then sank to the deepest pit of his stomach. And after hearing he was fine, the sinking feeling slowly began to set in once more as a single word hung over his head.

A knife dangling by a single thread just above.

 

 

 

_Honey._

He called.

Connor.

Honey.

Hot shame washed over Hank as he attempted to bury his changing colors in the palms of his hands.

**Honey.**

What possessed him to say that to a person he thought was a stranger? Better yet, why couldn't he recognize Connor? He saved Hank's life and he didn't even acknowledge him. Even in his memories of the crash, all he managed to see was the general shape of a human with a glimmering outline.

Noticing his obvious distress, Kamski piped up. "Hank, he's a very understanding person. I'm sure he doesn't blame you for acting so odd after being smacked around."

The heavy weight in his stomach shifted. He looked up from his palms over at Kamski, eyes narrow and filled with distrust. "Did you say anything weird to him?"

"Me?" Kamski dramatically touched a hand to his chest. "No. Absolutely not."

"You did, didn't you?"

His eyes shifted over to one side while his hands fidgeted in his lap. "I... may have spoken with him while you were out cold."

"Dude..."

"...And I may have invited him over for dinner sometime this week."

"Dude!"

Kamski's eyes flared up, as did his tone of voice. "What's your problem? He's gotta eat _something_." He then attempted to hold back the crooked grin that very clearly had a tight hold on half his mouth. "...And it'd be a plus for us to share a meal as well."

Hank's blank, cold expression stared into the depths of Kamski's soul- at least, they would have if he had one. "I'm going to beat you with a rake."

"Please don't hurt Mister Kamski."

Silent as the night, Connor materialized at the end of the bed. As always, his hair remained flawless and his suit may as well have been freshly ironed, and he didn't look particularly pleased or unhappy to be there.

"He calls me Mr. Kamski. Isn't that adorable?"

Hank groaned; half out of disdain for his therapist, half because of Connor's dangerous amount of kindness.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant? You were in such horrible shape earlier." He paused, momentarily looking down at his feet. "Do I look familiar to you at all?"

The burning in his face promptly returned, only he refused to hide in his hands for a second time. "I know who you are, Connor. Sorry for, uh..." He tried to run his hand through his hair but was quickly stopped by the new bandages wrapped around a good portion of his grey locks. "...all that."

Connor's eyes lit up. "It's fine! I'm very glad you're okay," he said while walking around to sit next to Hank and across from Kamski on the opposite side of the bed. Why there was a single chair on each side of him remained a mystery.

With every single last one of Hank's concerns being resolved in a matter of minutes upon waking up, he dared to think everything would be fine. He survived the crash, as did his new friend. Neither of them were horribly disfigured or unable to speak. From the sound of it, things were looking up.

They were looking up until Hank could feel the soggy, lukewarm blanket of depression slither around his heavily medicated body. He realized something- had an epiphany, if you will. An epiphany that drained all the color from his face and left his heart nearly empty.

The car wreck. The trip to the hospital. The steps taken to care for Hank.

There was no way for him to afford it all. Not with what little money he received from retirement. _Especially_ not in the United States, and absolutely **fucking** not in Detroit.

"Are you okay?" Connor asked, his voice showing more concern than his face.

Hank turned to him, and he must've looked dead both inside and out if Connor's expression was anything to go off of. "I'm gonna be in debt until I die."

"Excuse you? No you're not."

On the other side of his bed, Kamski sat with furrowed brows and a slightly tilted head.

"Have you forgotten who the hell I am? I remember when we first met, you called me... what was it again?" He snapped his fingers a few times. "Rich-ass motherfucker?"

"What're you gettin' at?"

"I'm paying for everything."

At first, Hank felt relief in knowing he wouldn't be carrying tens of thousands of dollars with him to his grave. The next feeling was joy. Happiness. Elation that someone cared enough about him to take away such an enormous amount of stress.

And finally.

Suspicious.

"And I don't suppose you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart?"

Kamski blinked in surprise. "Are you assuming I have an ulterior motive? Me? Of all people?"

"Ya."

"And are you assuming it has something to do with Connor?"

"Ya."

Kamski would never, no matter how desperate, **ever** force or manipulate someone into any kind of relationship with him, sexual or otherwise. Hank knew this. Anyone who knew Kamski knew this. Anyone who knew Kamski _also_ knew he was the human equivalent of a car belonging to the only person in a friend group with a license.

Everyone gets a ride.

"Do you want me to take care of today's expenses or not?"

"Just tell me what the catch is."

"No catch. But-"

"There it is."

Kamski stared daggers at him, then let out a genuinely frustrated sigh. "But. I think, in my professional opinion, that Connor should remain at your place instead of the shelter."

Both Hank and Connor raised a brow in unison, and they would have asked the same question at the same time if Kamski hadn't went on.

"The truck that collided with you-" Kamski pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times then handed it to Hank "-went careening towards the area near it."

**Former DPD Lieutenant And An Unidentified Man Caught In Wreck Of Yet Another Freak Accident**

Hank squinted at the article stuffed onto the horribly bright screen he'd been handed. That part of town seemed to get worse and worse ever since Hank left the force, and if what he read was to be trusted, then this wasn't the first time a reckless driver seemed hellbent on wanting to run over anything near the shelter. The article didn't even touch on the gang violence or worsening drug problem. Then again, most people already knew about all that.

No use in beating a dead horse.

"Lieutenant Anderson's comfort and safety are what's most important," Connor stated. "It's probably best for me to resume with my original plan of going to the shelter."

First of all, Hank would never get used to being called 'Lieutenant' again. Second... why did he seem so against staying with Hank? He enjoyed their little sleepover well enough, from what he could tell. In fact, he appeared to be rather happy after learning he had Hank's permission to spend the night.

" _My_ home is always an option," Kamski offered with a bright smile.

"I'd rather not be a burden," he retorted before Hank could lecture or yell at Kamski.

"You're not a burden."

Out of anyone willing and able to explain this, Hank managed to put it into words first. He learned a lot in therapy, and while most of it still sounded like useless garbage to him, he picked up a thing or two about self worth.

"You can stay with me until you remember more about yourself, if you want. You're an adult. You can make your own choices, and this is just another for you to pick from."

Connor cracked his knuckles one by one as he thought. How would he even repay Hank? Money was out of the question. Cleaning seemed like a viable option, but after his early morning rampage, he doubted the house would need to be tidied up for at least a few days. One can hardly expect for him to pay rent by doing dishes and laundry, either. And while he felt inclined to turn him down outright, the sincerity in Hank's voice kept him from feeling too guilty about wanting to live with him.

"Would it really be fine by you?"

"I wouldn'ta offered if I wasn't okay with it."

The sound of metal scraping against concrete rang throughout the room as Kamski abruptly stood up from his chair, pushing it behind him in the process. His eyes were wide and vacant. They stared out at nothing for what seemed like an eternity until Hank spoke up.

"...You ok-"

"We need to go shopping."

"Wh-"

His head snapped to look at Hank. Once empty eyes filled rapidly with excitement. Anticipation. Hyperactivity.

"Connor can't live in his suit forever. The moment you're released from here, we're taking him shopping."

Hank didn't even have to get the first letter of the first word of his first of many questions out. Kamski had already bolted out of the room- an act which was probably highly dangerous and forbidden on hospital grounds. His erratic footsteps grew quieter and quieter, though in the distance, Hank still heard him shout for Chloe.

As always, Kamski remained the perfect example of the kind of person you want looking after your mental health.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter didn't really have any cute hank/connor moments, but fear not!! i promise i'll make up for it in the next one. really. i have very cute things planned, so just hang tight for me, okay? for now, i hope you enjoyed the exposition and also kamski


	7. Good Going

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever uhhhh *dbz instant transmission sound effect*

Two days.

Two _whole ass_ days.

For two endless days, Hank dealt with the people at the hospital constantly looking over his shoulder, making call after call to distant friends to see if any of them could feed and let Sumo out, and holding back the tantalizing urge to deck the next doctor that looked at him funny.

After Kamski bolted, he only occasionally sent a text to Hank to see how he fared. Hank responded by calling him, telling him he wished he stayed in his car after the crash, and hung up. Kamski sent a few concerned texts after that only to be left on read.

Literally the only thing keeping Hank from giving into his impulses was Connor. Even if he didn't have an ID, wasn't related to Hank in any way and looked lost half the time, he somehow managed to visit him several times a day. Hank didn't know where he went when he left. It must've been somewhere nice nearby, as no matter how much time passed, neither Connor's suit nor body seemed to deteriorate.

His random appearances also solidified the fact that the hospital was not very good.

Thank the stars Connor clung to his side as often as possible. If it weren't for him, Hank either would have killed the nearest nurse or himself. Or both. It didn't matter to him when he got to that point. He wanted out.

"A fucking mall? Really?"

Careful what you wish for.

"Connor needs clothes," Kamski began as he put out a cigarette in one of those long, funny looking outdoor ashtrays. "I need a new tie, and I bet you've been craving shitty fast food for a while now. Why make three different stops when we can just go here?"

He had a point. He had several points, actually. But Hank didn't care enough to take any of them into consideration. He loathed malls. Not as much as he despised hospitals, though his hatred for them came rather close. Malls always contained too many people and too many stairs for his liking. Too much noise. Too much variety, which would overwhelm even the most curious of humans.

Seeing as Kamski spent the most time in these particularly hellish buildings, he quickly ran off to do whatever he wanted. How did he have so much energy? He wasn't too much younger than him, and yet he had all the energy of a teen who found a crisp twenty dollar bill in their pocket.

Hank shook his head. _Fast food._ He could smell it but he couldn't see it. What floor were they even on? You'd assume the ground floor, yet Hank managed to look over some glass railing going down and leading to another layer of hell. This discouraged him quite a bit, as did the crowd of noisy young people rushing by, but the scent of grease and chicken filled him with a sense of determination.

Amidst all the chaos, Hank noticed a particular lack of Connor trailing behind him. After turning around and shuffling through the various people in his way, Hank soon found him staring longingly at some makeup through a sheet of glass- lipstick, to be specific. An incredibly light shade with the barest shimmer of gold. The tube itself glimmered with the same gold and pink behind the glass, and near it was the employee who sold a variety of makeup belonging to the same brand.

"Kamski'd buy ya that if you asked nicely," Hank told him even though he knew he'd buy it for him no matter how he asked.

Connor snapped out of his stupor to look up at Hank with his usual expression of plain nothingness. "I was only looking."

"I getcha, don't worry." Hank smiled- a rare sight in these past four years, and ever rarer for it to not be out of spite or irony. "I think it'd look nice on you, though."

Connor looked back at the lipstick. He reached up to touch his lips, as if visualizing how it would look and feel on him. His eyes then closed partially before he tore them away from the display and directed them to Hank, though without making eye contact. "I'd rather not be mistaken for a woman."

Him? Mistaken for a girl? Maybe if he grew out his hair and pitched up his voice, but he certainly wouldn't look like one with a bit of makeup on.

On impulse Hank went ahead and bought it from the person working at the display. He didn't think about how this would look to other people, or how Connor might not even use it if it made him feel bad. His sleepy, hungry brain told him to do it, so he did.

"I won't be upset if you don't use it," he explained while handing off the lipstick to Connor. "Consider it a thank you for keeping me sane the past few days."

Connor took the lipstick from him, mindlessly noting how absolutely tiny it was compared to Hank's hands, then promptly stuffed it into one of his pockets for safekeeping.

"Hank, look who I found~"

Hank turned around to face a returned Kamski and whoever he dragged along with him. He half expected it to be an old colleague or a buddy from high school, though he was greeted with someone he hardly knew yet had been looking forward to seeing again.

"Markus..?"

During one of Hank's cases less than five or so years ago, he just barely managed to save the life of a man in one of the worst conditions he'd ever seen. Back then, both his legs were removed by use of an axe, his right eye had been torn out, his eardrums were damaged to the point of him being legally deaf, and his already existing heart condition made his chance at survival seem impossible.

Standing before him, Markus looked better than ever. Two fancy new prosthetic legs, a blue 'glass' eye (that of which he could see from, just not very well) contrasting with his naturally green one, some high end hearing aids and a bit of heart surgery later, the man was literally a walking miracle. If it weren't for the combined efforts of his adoptive father and Kamski, he wouldn't have survived that horror show of a night.

Naturally, with him being a hands-on kind of guy, Markus went up to Hank and pulled him into a hug. The last time he found himself in his arms was when Hank carried him off to the ambulance, so their second embrace obviously felt far less painful.

"It's good to see you again!" He hugged him a little tighter. "I've been meaning to thank you for a while now."

For the first time in an eternity, a genuine feeling of pride welled up inside of Hank. He would have cried if he wasn't in public. He also would have hugged him harder if he hadn't worried about hurting him.

Markus pulled away, the brightest smile possible beaming on his sweet face. He had so many things to tell Hank! His new job, how his dad was doing, his boyfriend, his best friend who awkwardly flirted with him for a while before finding out she was gay... Dozens of stories and a handful of accomplishments were ready and willing to burst out of him at any moment.

But first! He needed to greet the familiar elephant in the room.

"Have I met your friend here before?"

Both Kamski and Hank shared the same deer-in-headlights look. Being better at explaining things and talking to people in general, Kamski did the honor of telling the tale of how Hank found Connor and why him looking familiar meant so much. During the conversation, their group of now four people just so happened to meander in the direction of a little food kiosk. At last, Hank would get the grease his body craved, and he'd be able to briefly escape the wandering oblivion of the mall by sitting at an ugly looking four-person table to eat.

"No memories at all?"

Connor nodded. "I can't recall much visually. Only vague feelings and fuzzy landscapes."

Markus drummed his fingers on the tackily colored table. He **knew** Connor. He'd seen him before, at the very least. And it bothered the hell out of him that he didn't even remember his name. "Sorry I don't know more about you. I really wish I could help out."

"It's difficult to become frustrated over something so out of my control, though I appreciate the sentiment."

"Hank's got a knack for finding people at their worst," Kamski chimed in. "Even after retirement he's out here helping people recover from all sorts of tragedies."

"You make me sound like a saint," Hank said before taking a sip from his oversized soft drink. "I was just doin' my job."

"Ah, and yet you're still helping out a young man even though you're retired."

"I mean-" he ran a hand down his beard "-yeah but this is different. I wouldn't be able to sleep at night if I left Connor in that part of town."

"He can always stay at my-"

"No."

Even if he didn't want to admit it, he wasn't helping Connor entirely out of compassion or a sense of duty. Hank found himself enjoying his time spent with Connor quite a bit- more than anticipated, for sure. He was realistic yet positive, but not annoyingly so. He's smart but didn't have a lot of firsthand experience with the world, though this likely dealt with his amnesia. Connor... was a delight to be around. You'd think he was normal if you didn't know him for more than a minute.

Sadly, all good things must come to and end. Hank finished his food. Markus needed to head back home. Kamski couldn't neglect his job forever. Though, Markus gave Hank his number before going about his business. If he remembered anything about Connor or vice versa, he wanted to keep in touch, and it'd be nice to hear from Hank every now and again.

After thanking Kamski for the clothes and his freshly repaired car, and after getting a brief and outdated warning about texting and driving, Hank finally made his way home with his new roommate.

As they arrived back home, Hank nearly toppled over when Sumo jumped up to lick his face. While he had been well fed and cared for in his absence, nothing can fully replace the bond a dog has with its owner. Same goes for the owner of said dog, especially if they didn't realize how much they missed each other until they reunited.

"Would it be all right if I used your shower?"

"Go for it-"

Sumo _thwapped_ the side of Hank's lead with his leash. Where had Hank been? Why did he smell funny? And how dare he leave for so long and not even come back with a treat? As far as he cared, he was owed a walk and at _least_ three tummy rubs.

Connor fished out a comfortable set of sweat pants and a soft t-shirt that actually fit him before heading to the bathroom. He promptly stripped out of his semi formal suit, set his lipstick aside, then turned the shower on as hot as it would go, causing the room to rapidly fill with warm steam. The hot water felt absolutely heavenly on his skin, and being nude allowed him to get a better feel for his somewhat unfamiliar body. His thighs, arms, abdomen... it was all so odd to him. And he couldn't help but compare his small, feminine hands to Hank's, where a single one of his would nearly cover Connor's back. They'd probably feel rough against his sensitive skin as well. But if they were somehow in a position where Hank touched him... he'd be gentle, wouldn't he? Being touched didn't sound very pleasant unless Hank would be the one doing it. He'd been nice to Connor so far, so physical contact from him would feel nice as well, right?

Hank only managed to take Sumo for a quick walk. He didn't notice before, but it was fucking cold outside and he didn't feel like being out there longer than needed. With the walk done and the day done in general, he meandered on over to his bedroom so he too could change into comfortable clothing. However, a noise from the bathroom stopped him in his tracks. It sounded like... a groan, almost. Did Connor get hurt while in there?

Hank knocked on the door and spoke up over the running water from within. "You okay?"

A strained voice came from the shower. "I'm fine. My stitches are giving me issues is all."

Hank reflexively winced. He probably got soap in them or maybe pulled 'em a little too hard while cleaning. "Be careful, all right?"

"Got it."

After exiting the shower, drying off and getting dressed, Connor finally noticed a few things about the bathroom. Stray shirts scattered the floor. Colorful sticky notes clung to the edges of the mirror above a white sink. On said white sink rested a very much dead UFO plant, also known as a Chinese money plant, or Pilea peperomioides. What would normally be evenly spaced disk-shaped leaves were instead wrinkled, drooped, and dark brown instead of a lovely green. Even the small white pot it resided in somehow looked sad, what with all the little chips and stains in its ceramic surface.

Hank looked up at Connor from his spot on the floor as he left the bathroom, taking a cloud of steam with him. Sumo managed to wrestle Hank down to his level once he got changed, and after rolling onto his back and watching Sumo trot away, he didn't feel like getting up again. Standing would hurt, and he didn't want to deal with that at the moment.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?"

"I'm fine. The floor's comfy," he lied. "What's up?"

"I wanted to let you know I fixed your plant."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dbz instant transmission sound effect* i forgot what this joke was gonna be
> 
> hope u enjoyed this chapter nonetheless


	8. Homegrown

"What do you mean you 'fixed it'?"

Hank stormed past Connor to check in on the aforementioned fixed plant. He meant the one in the bathroom, right? Because that one died weeks ago and he'd been meaning to get rid of it for a while.

A dead plant he did not find.

Luscious, green, pancake-shaped leaves hung from healthy looking stems sprouting up and out effortlessly. The once cracked and dull pot even looked brand new- its ceramic being a striking white and flawless.

Hank pinched one of the leaves between in index finger and thumb, expecting to feel the plastic or fabric of a fake plant. Instead, the natural leather-y texture greeted his hesitant touch.

"Connor," he said knowing damn well as soon as the name left his mouth he'd appear at his side, "what the **actual** fuck?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he admitted from beside him. "I wanted to fix it. So I did."

What.

Hank exited the bathroom and pulled out his phone. His first reaction was to call Kamski even though the man, despite him being as close to nonhuman as they get, probably didn't know anything about plant necromancy. Still, it didn't hurt to try.

"You've reached my voicemail," Kamski's recorded voice belted out on the other end. "I'm probably busy with work or getting railed against a wall- both, if I'm lucky. Leave a message and I just might call you back."

Hank hung up. Voicemails always sounded so awkward coming from him, so he'd wait until Kamski had more free time.

While pacing back and forth in his room, Hank wondered if Markus would have any recollection of plant-based black magic fuckery in relation to Connor. Again, it was worth a shot.

"Hey Hank! You caught me at a weird time."

"Oh yeah? What's up?"

"I didn't, uh, put one of my legs on right and it fell down the stairs. So I'm just the tiniest bit stuck."

Don't laugh.

_Don't laugh._

**Don't fucking laugh.**

"You can laugh. It's even funnier from my end, trust me."

Even if he hadn't given Hank the green light, he would have let out a snort anyway. He knew the stairs in his dad's home went on forever, and he kept imagining the loud thudding of a prosthetic leg as it bounced down a curved wooden staircase.

"Anyway, what's up?"

Hank cleared his throat. "You remember anything about Connor regarding, uh... plants? Nature in general, even."

A pause. He briefly heard Markus breathing on the other end.

"I can't say for sure. Why? Is he allergic to something really specific?"

"I'd say the opposite."

Markus let out a soft chuckle. "What?" The smile in his voice was audible. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Listen, I- I dunno. Nevermind. Thanks for letting me ask you a dumb question."

"Anytime! Hey, I gotta tackle these stairs now. Wish me luck, okay?"

Hank stifled the ugly laugh he felt coming on. "Yep. Be careful."

After hanging up, Hank made his way back to the bathroom where he spotted Connor leaning over and propping his hands up on the sink to look at himself in the mirror.

"...You okay there?"

Connor's eyes darted over his more distinct facial features; his freckles, his stitches and his eyes. It was the first time he ever really got a look at his face. A long, good look.

An uneasy feeling spread throughout Connor the longer he stared at his features- a sense of dread that balled up in his stomach like long knots of unkempt yarn.

"I'm fine," he stated while backing away from the reflective surface. "I look much younger than I thought."

At least the feeling faded once he stopped looking at the mirror.

"That's a good thing, ain't it?" Hank yawned loudly, just barely covering his mouth last second. "I dunno about you but bed is calling my name. Gotta sleep off the hospital feeling."

"I'll be here if you need me."

Hank didn't want to leave him all alone but  _damn_ was he tired. He normally didn't go to bed before ten, though all the people he'd been around completely sapped him of his strength. The mystery of the reviving plant only further drained his daily ration of emotional energy, leaving him ready to collapse onto the next vaguely soft surface he found. Maybe it'd turn out to be a dream. Maybe if he went to bed soon enough, he'd forget about it entirely.

"Lemme know if you need any more blankets or anything, all right?"

Connor hesitated. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his suit, and for a moment, Hank thought he'd pipe up and ask for something.

"Got it."

* * *

  
Nine o'clock.

Hank jolted awake from a nightmare he forgot immediately after opening his eyes. He tossed his blankets from his sweating body and swung his legs over the side of his bed. The floor seemed so far away. And he still felt his heart pounding rapidly in his chest while the same beat throbbed against his eardrums. Slowly, but not as slowly as usual, his eyes focused on the world around him as the nightmare fell further and further into obscurity. Why did he feel so hot? Why did his head hurt? Why were his hands shaking?

He didn't know.

But he _did_ know he needed a shower.

Grabbing a random ugly shirt, some fresh jeans, and boxers without any holes in them, he hopped into the shower and was immediately greeted with what one may easily confuse with Satan's piss- a common mistake when the water beating down on him all but burned the hair off his chest. What the fuck. **What the fuck.** Connor used it last, right? He didn't have to burn himself to get clean. Or was he that much of a masochist?

A few quick adjustments and a squirt of apple scented soap later, Hank dried off and prepared for the rest of his day. He'd need to eat, walk Sumo, get his daily intake of television... What a hectic schedule.

Exiting the bathroom, the smell of a sweet and savory breakfast smacked him across the face in all the right ways. Upon further inspection of the kitchen, Hank nearly stumbled into Connor, who held a large plate of fluffy waffles and still sizzling sausages.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. I hope you don't mind this."

Hank bit the inside of his cheek. He must still be dreaming, right? There's no way his roommate got up and made him breakfast. No way he put on a frilly apron to protect what looked like a fuzzy blue sweater and black jeans. No way in **hell** this grown ass man, out of his own free will, got up and made a full breakfast for some old dude.

No way.

And yet. Hank sat down. The food had been placed in front of him along with a glass of milk and appropriate eating utensils. Everything looked perfect. Even down to the small details like the amount of syrup and butter, and the number of sausages, which was three.

"I honestly don't know what to say. 'Thanks' doesn't really cut it here."

Connor took a seat across from him and looked rather pleased with himself while doing so. "I'm glad you find this ideal."

"Trust me, it's more than ideal." Hank cut off a piece of bite-sized waffle and promptly skewered it with his fork. "Aren't you gonna eat anything?"

"I ate before you got up."

Did he? Hank didn't hear him. Then again, Hank didn't hear anything Connor did until he saw it with his own eyes.

"May I ask you a personal question? Feel free to ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable in any way."

Hank about gagged on his food when Connor started talking out of the blue. He sat so still and quiet that he seriously forgot he existed for a solid minute. "Go for it."

"You have a... seemingly unused room in your home. I was wondering if it belonged to-"

"Don't wanna talk about it."

"Understood."

Connor tapped his fingers against the table as Hank ate. He didn't want to push him, but he didn't want to let the awkward silence linger over the two of them for much longer. He considered staying quiet until he finished breakfast, though he doubted he'd be able to speak with Hank again anytime soon unless his souring mood improved.

"Is there anything you wanted me to do today?"

"You're my roommate. Not a maid."

"I could be your maid if you wanted me to."

Hank froze mid-chew. He really said that, huh? Without a shred of irony, too.

"Uhh-" Hank took a sip from his glass "-What do **you** wanna do?" Pretending he didn't say anything at all seemed like the best option.

"Grocery shopping seems like a good option. I hope you don't mind me tossing a lot of expired food."

That didn't sound like something he wanted to do. It sounded like something he thought _should_ be done for Hank's sake- and believe it or not, these are two completely different things. Still, Hank went along with it for the time being. Connor may have been a personal assistant before the incident, if his constant helpfulness and selfless attitude were anything to go off of.

Before they left, Connor removed the apron wrapped around his thin frame, revealing his very soft and cuddly looking sweater in all its glory. It looked absolutely adorable on him, and Hank didn't mind admitting that to himself. Connor looked like a damn stuffed animal. Of course he'd be cute in a sweater.

While shopping, Connor suggested the basics such as milk, eggs, bread, and butter. Hank picked out what he wanted, along with some beef and veggies. Shopping is fun and all when you have a friend, though it can become tedious when said friend won't let you buy anything for him. Every time Hank pointed out some stuff he might like, the following conversation ensued:

"Is it for you, Lieutenant?"

"No."

"Then no, but thank you."

Hank did eventually pick a candy bar, the kind that can be broken into small chunks, under the pretense of it being his and his alone. He waited until they were done shopping, back in the car and stuck at a red light to offer Connor some.

"You want any?"

"It's yours, Lieutenant."

"It's called sharing, you dork." _Dork._  Hearing that word in his voice made him want to cringe. "I ain't gonna force you to eat anything. Just take some if you want."

Connor broke off a relatively small piece of chocolate then made it even smaller by biting it in half instead of popping the whole thing between his lips. This turned out to be a poor choice, as the chocolate melted fairly quickly and stuck to his first two fingers and thumb. Naturally, this lead to him eating the rest of the sweet and licking any remains of it from his digits.

While Hank mentally compared him to a stuffed animal before, he may have underestimated how cute he found him. He couldn't be doing it on purpose, could he? No, of course not. He wouldn't purposely distract Hank from his driving like that.

"Is there something on my face?"

Fuck.

Hank's eyes snapped away from Connor to stare at the road like they should have been doing. "Nah. Not used t' having a passenger, y'know?"

"I understand. I'll try and keep my movements to a minimum then."

He's not going to think about this. No. No, he couldn't. He was going to occupy his mind and keep it from getting any worse. He needed to walk Sumo. To watch TV. Relax. Not... stare at cute people while driving and wonder why doing so bothered him as much as it did.

The moment Hank exited the car and went to haul groceries inside, Connor had already filled his arms up with bags and stood by the front door.

Maybe Connor used to be a magician.

A damn good one.

"Will you be walking Sumo soon?" Connor asked as the two made their way to the kitchen.

At the word _walking_ , Sumo jumped up from the couch and happily trotted over to Hank. His tail repeatedly batted against his leg, and his constant wiggling made it difficult for Hank to put any food away.

"I guess I am now."

"May I accompany you?"

"Yeah, sure."

Could have said no.

Very easily, too.

Unfortunately, Hank's mouth worked faster than his brain, and in under ten minutes he walked alongside Connor instead of taking well-needed time to sort out his feelings and the thoughts accompanying them.

"Aren't you cold? The sweater can't be keepin' ya that warm."

"I'm fine, Lieutenant." Connor tugged some at his collar out of habit. "I don't feel cold in the same way you... do..."

Connor's brisk pace slowed to a halt as he approached the house where he woke up. The sidewalk around him still retained the stains of, presumably, his blood, though the majority of the red turned a rusty and faded brown. Fewer leaves scattered the ground, further exposing the dead grass and grey sidewalk they followed.

He didn't like how quiet it suddenly became.

The same sense of vague dread he felt while looking in the mirror latched itself around Connor's neck like a tightening chain leading down into his gut and ending in an incomprehensible ball. His eyes, while not the most expressive, no longer held the bright spark of curiosity or enthusiasm Hank grew so used to seeing whenever he looked into them.

"It's a little scary," he stated in a voice attempting to pass as calm. "Not knowing how I got here, I mean." He tried to smile at Hank to show him everything was fine, only for it to come off as forced. The way the corner of his mouth twitched slightly gave off the impression he might be on the edge of-

Hank put his arms around Connor and pulled him into a tight hug. There would be no crying on his watch. And if there had to be crying, Connor would be doing it in the comfort of an emotionally damaged man who just so happened to give really good hugs. He felt like a little porcelain doll- far too delicate for a big burly bear to be holding. He worried he'd break the poor thing if he squeezed him too hard. Despite this, he didn't have the will to let him go. The way Connor clung to him tugged at his heart almost painfully. It made Hank wonder if he could remember the last time he'd been held... or if someone ever held him at all in the first place.

Connor all but melted in Hank's embrace. It took a moment for him to realize what he was doing, and when he did, he immediately hugged him back. He felt so warm and soft yet firm enough to squeeze without sinking into him. He would have been very much okay with spending the last moments of his life then and there if it weren't for the task at hand.

"Connor?"

He may have fallen asleep for a second. Thankfully, the combination of Sumo trying to run off after a cat and Hank's voice brought him back before he fell completely out.

"I'm okay. I'm just tired."


	9. Only Now Do You See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i never learned how to read

"Do you think you could teach me how you made those waffles?"

"It's just pancake mix with powdered sugar and vanilla extract."

Hank opened the front door and allowed Sumo to prance over to his water bowl for a drink. "That's it, eh?" He swore he tasted hazelnut in there somewhere.

"I can add blueberries next time," Connor said in the middle of removing his shoes. "Does that sou-"

"Bathroom."

No time to explain. His kidneys felt as though they'd threaten to explode if he didn't answer nature's call. He didn't even have coffee this morning, and milk couldn't possibly go through him so quickly- at least it normally didn't. Maybe his body decided, in its late age, to immediately eject liquid dairy products from his stomach as quickly as possible. He wouldn't doubt it. His body did all sorts of concerning shit over the past few years.

Hank's eyes fell upon the very alive plant still sitting at the sink when he entered the bathroom and while he washed his hands.

Still alive.

Still real.

Still didn't know how Connor pulled off such a stunt. Angel or not, plants don't come back from the dead.

Pot in hand, Hank exited the bathroom and placed aforementioned plant on the kitchen table. Connor looked down at it with a raised brow then up to meet Hank's gaze.

"Do you really not know how this thing is alive," Hank began, "or are you pulling my leg?"

"I'm not sure."

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen. Next time you wanna do magic tricks? Show me. Let me see it with my own two eyes so I know I'm not losing it."

"Got it."

Connor approached the table and turned the plant around for a bit. "It died because the bathroom didn't have enough light. It should be fine in here so long as you water it."

"...I'll remember that."

Hank kinda hoped he could let it die again so he'd maybe get the chance to see Connor's magic in action. He'd have to think of another way lest he risk another person being disappointed in his lack of a green thumb.

"Can you fix other things? Like broken shit, or is it limited to farming?"

Connor's eyes lit up, and his normally monotone voice gathered hints of excitement. "I'm not sure, but I'd be very happy to help you."

He's like a dog.

"I'll tell you if I think of anything."

The hyperactivity in his voice died down as quickly as it came, though his desire to help remained. "I see. Then, please do not hesitate to let me know if you need any assistance. It's the least I can do for all the kindness you've shown."

A sappy dog.

"I'll remember that, too."

Hank meandered over to the fridge and rifled through it contents until his hand wrapped around the neck of a beer. He'd been cutting down on his drinking by a significant amount these past few months. He deserved to have at least one light beer, and he always had something to drink while watching his daily dose of TV. The Red Wings were supposed to be playing later on, weren't they? He couldn't possibly watch them without being the tiniest bit buzzed.

Sumo knew the day's routine as well. He drank up his water, shook out his fur, then took his spot at Hank's feet. He didn't understand why his human became more active and started walking him instead of letting him out in the backyard to do his business. He didn't know why he stopped staying up to late with that noisy piece of metal and bottle of harsh smelling water. He wondered why he never left the house for more than five hours a day anymore. So much had changed recently, but he didn't mind. Spending more time with Hank and his new friend was a lot more fun than wondering if or when he'd come home most nights.

"Please tell me you're not standing in the kitchen like a weirdo."

"I don't think I am," Connor responded from the kitchen, where in which he stood in one place like a weirdo. "There's nothing left for me to do."

"You don't..." Hank combed a hand through the hair on the side of his head. "You have free will. Do what you want."

"I don't want to do anything wrong," he explained while he approached the living room.

"Use common sense, man. Don't set anything on fire." He twisted the metal cap off his drink with ease. "Maybe don't leave the house by yourself."

Connor tilted his head slightly. "Why not?"

A long _uhhh_ left Hank's mouth while he attempted to put his feelings into words. There was no way he'd be able to tell him _I'm afraid you'll get murdered_ without sounding paranoid. "What if you get hurt or pass out and I'm not there to help?"

"I understand." Connor didn't like the idea of being alone anyway. "Is it all right if I sit with you for a bit?"

Hank hoped Connor would find a way to make his own fun. What do young people even do for fun anymore, anyway? Aside from the obvious drinking, drugs, and sleeping around. Connor didn't seem like the kind of guy to do any of that. He gave off more of a community garden vibe. Not that someone who runs a community garden can't live a little. Hank just didn't have the ability to imagine Connor doing anything remotely dangerous or harmful.

"Sure. You like sports at all?"

Except for when he dragged Hank from his burning car and risked stepping on glass, getting impaled by shrapnel, getting run over by passers by...

"I don't remember ever taking interest in them." He took a seat beside Hank and proceeded to barely sink into the couch as if he weighed next to nothing. "I can appreciate the enthusiasm of the fans and how hard the players work, though."

Hank brought the bottle up to his lips while he spoke. He... He basically told him 'no' in a really roundabout way.

"Here's a better question: How are you?"

The theoretical gears in Connor's head turned at mach speed. He maintained eye contact for an uncomfortably long period of time before finally answering, "I'm not sure I understand."

_**WHADDAYAMEANYOUDON-** _

Hank drew in a deep breath through his nose. "You never really complain about anything." He then took another sip to stall for thinking time. "And I can never really tell what kinda mood you're in."

"I apologize for being hard to read. I'm fine. Really."

That _really_ at the end there didn't sit well with Hank. It reminded him of when he'd fake not being sick so he could keep working, or that one time he stepped on a rusty nail and refused to get medical attention or even talk about it until someone saw blood ooze from his boot. Come to think of it, Connor reminded Hank of himself on bad days; when he'd be on a case and valued the lives of strangers over his own, leading him to getting seriously injured more times than he'd ever admit. He still felt that way every now and then. Like everyone else was inherently more important than him. Why care about yourself when a someone you recently met needs help? So what if you've been shot in the shoulder? Quit whining. Other people in the world have it worse.

...He needed to set up an appointment with Kamski for Connor. An actual, professional appointment.

A sudden weight, albeit a light one, on his right arm dragged Hank from his thoughts. Unsurprisingly, Connor had all but fallen asleep against him then quickly sat straight up.

"You bored, kid?" Hank asked the fellow adult at his side.

"Not at all." Connor cupped a hand over his mouth and yawned. "Just tired."

"You want me to get up so you can sleep?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't want you to sacrifice your TV time. I'll try not to lean on you."

Hank gave a lazy half-shrug. "I don't mind it."

He meant that. Really, he did. He did _not_ , however, mean to say it out loud and without a second's delay. _It's fine_ , he told himself. _Your day is going normally. You walked Sumo. You ate. And now you're relaxing. A nice, normal day. That's what this is._

Not even five minutes later he felt Connor lean on him again.

 _Don't be a creep._ Yeah. Easier thought than done. The urge to run his hand through Connor's annoyingly perfect hair couldn't possibly be any stronger. He wanted to feel it and mess it up. It always looked flawless, and **damn** did he want nothing more than to ruin it. Just drag his big ol' hands through it and-

"Lieutenant?"

Caught red handed. Or, rather, red eyed since he didn't actually touch his hair.

Yet.

"Your, uh... stitches look like they can be taken out."

As good of an excuse as any. And it wasn't _entirely_ a lie.

"I thought they might," Connor noted while running a finger over his stitches. "You have a pair of scissors in the kitchen, yes?"

"Uhh-"

He stood up and went to rifle around in the kitchen's various drawers without an answer. He saw some earlier while cooking, surely.

"Shouldn't you let, like... a doctor take 'em out for you?"

"I'd rather not go back to the hospital for something so simple."

Hank saw Connor bring up the found scissors to the side of his head and nearly fell out of his seat getting up and scrambling across the house to stop him. "Hold on!" His hand instinctively twitched to take the scissors away, though he kept them from actually interfering. "At least use a mirror." He trusted Connor, but he didn't want him to lose an eye.

Connor slightly lowered the sharp, silver tip of the scissors from his temple. He pouted ever so slightly- just enough for Hank to take notice and not enough for him to appear childish. "I'd rather not use a mirror for personal reasons."

"Then let me do it. I can at least see what I'm doing."

The already fading feeling of discomfort rapidly dissipated at Hank's offer. Having him take care of the stitches would most likely result in success without further injury. Still, Connor hesitated. He was supposed to be the one looking after Hank. Not the other way around. What kind of angel can't even look after their assigned human? What kind of angel needs their human to act _for_ them? If Amanda were here, she wouldn't-

"Amanda..? Who's Amanda?"


	10. Nerves And The Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may have edited this while not in the best mental state so if it sucks i'm sorry

"Connor..?"

Wide eyes stared up at Hank and desperately searched his features for... something. An answer. A reason. The explanation to why he responded to his personal, unspoken thoughts. He swore his lips were shut while thinking. That he hadn't said a word. That Hank somehow, someway, against all odds, _guessed_ what he thought.

Unknown to Connor, Hank actually did hear him. Not all of his internal monologue, but the few seconds near the end came out clear enough for him to grasp. _Amanda would't._ They barely slipped past his mostly unmoving pink lips, like a whisper meant for his ears only.

"I'm fine," he assured Hank, letting his arm fall to his side and taking the scissors with it. "I need to use the bathroom."

Hank stepped aside and gritted his teeth at the sound of him leaving. He must've touched a nerve. Must've said something wrong. The way Connor shut the bathroom door in a louder fashion than usual only further drove these thoughts home.

The name he muttered still clung to the inside of his skull like cobwebs. Didn't Hank know an Amanda? Or, at the very least, didn't someone he knew know an Amanda? It hung on the tip of his tongue far too loosely for him not to know.

Hank's hand rubbed over tightly shut eyes. Kamski. Of course. God, didn't he bother the guy enough? He didn't want to call him again or get in the way.

With a heavy sigh, Hank rang him up as he paced around the kitchen. If he knew someone who was familiar with Connor, they might actually put a few puzzle pieces in place instead of adding ones that don't match at all.

"Hewwo? Wieutenant Andewson?"

"I regret being born."

As expected, a playful laugh crackled through the phone. "Aww, don't be like that! What's up? You wanna reschedule?"

"Nonono. Well. Yeah. But not right this second." Hank scratched at his beard. "Sorry for calling you so much."

"Don't apologize! You know how much I love helping you out. Now, spill the beans."

"Right, right." He paused his pacing to lean on the kitchen counter as he spoke. "Uhh... you, uh... Do you know anyone named Amanda, by chance?"

The other end grew silent in an instant, which for someone like Kamski, usually wasn't the best of signs. After a bit, Hank could hear him shift around as if sitting up or changing positions in a chair.

"I did," his oddly melancholy voice finally broke the painful quiet. "I believe I only mentioned her once before to you, yes? Only briefly. Only the name and only for a moment."

More noise. Shuffling of papers. Rearranging of general office supplies; pens, pencils, maybe a stapler.

"I'm sorry to say that I can't tell you much for personal reasons. You understand, don't you?" He drew in a sharp breath through his nose and let out a soft chuckle, indicating the return of his normally cheery tone. "Let me guess. This has something to do with Connor, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, and it's givin' me a bad feeling."

"Oh, I can see why. Amanda's been quite dead for a solid minute now and I doubt she'd be acquainted with Connor, seeing how young he is." The distinct click of a lighter and the crackle of something burning invaded the phone's speaker. "You know I don't share my personal life with anyone but you, Carl, and the girls here, so I don't think this is the same Amanda."

"...There's no way you're that asocial."

"Do I fucking look like an open and outgoing person?" Loud footsteps. Not necessarily upset, but certainly full of energy. "I only leave my villa what I absolutely have to. I'm about one trust fund away from becoming a goddamn hikikomori."

"A goddamn **what**?"

More crackling came through, followed by a slow exhale. "But that's a story for another day. You mentioned your schedule, yes?" A subject change as swift and unpredictable as the weather in Michigan, though far less cold.

"About that. Would it be possible at all to have Connor go in my place sometime?"

"Oh? You're letting me spend personal time with him?" The laugh he let out made the less than innocent smile on his face perfectly visible in Hank's mind. "If this is for the dinner I had in mind, I'll need much more than an hour."

"I ain't 'letting' you do anything. I just want to know if it's possible for him to have a regular appointment- you know, if he wants to and... all that."

"Ah, I see. So, do you want me to talk to him for an hour like everyone else?"

Hank's focus shifted to the bathroom and the odd noises emanating from its closed door. It sounded a lot like the time he burnt a pot of chili and dumped it down the toilet; gross sloshing noises followed up by a flush.

"Hank?"

"Uh- sure. Yeah. I just wanna make sure he's okay."

"You're sweet, you know that?"

He blinked. Him? Sweet? Since when?

"I'm not sure what I can do in one visit, and it'll take some string pulling on my end, but I'll be sure to do wonderfully. As always. Just have him call me to set things up, m'kay? If he wants to, of course."

Hank shifted his weight off the counter and set his sights on the bathroom. "Arright. Thanks, Elijah."

"No prob! See you boys soon."

Hank tucked his phone away and went to investigate the suspicious chili noises. Every part of him hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. He'd prefer it if Connor had accidentally dumped a bottle of mouthwash down the bowl over him losing his lunch- or in this case, his breakfast.

"You okay?" he asked after tapping his knuckle to the door.

Connor may have spoken in response. Or he may not have. His words, if there were any at all, came out slurred and completely incomprehensible along with being muffled by the door.

"My ears ain't what they used to be." He twisted the doorknob just enough to see if it'd been locked, which it was. "You might have to speak up a little."

A slow twist and a tug later, Connor peered through the crack he made to speak to Hank. Even with the vast majority of his face hidden away, Hank could still clearly see how miserable he looked. His normally pale skin appeared to be stark white, as did his once light pink lips, and his empty eyes stared up at him with a vacancy that left Hank's heart feeling heavy and full of dread.

"I said I'm fine," he clarified in a raspy voice. "I'm just tired."

Who exactly did he think he was fooling? Not Hank. Not the man who'd use that excuse over and over again when he needed a break or someone to talk to or a shoulder to cry on. Certainly not him or anyone else with at least a smidge of common sense.

"Being tired obviously isn't the only problem here."

His eyes shifted to avoid Hank's gaze. "I'll get over it soon, so please don't worry."

Hank gave the door a gentle push, and sure enough it opened without much resistance at all. Connor's didn't even hold it in place or make an attempt to stop him. Whether this was out of exhaustion or disinterest he didn't know.

Connor held back his body's insistence to shiver while hugging his sides. The world was too cold. Standing in place, the air around him seemed to chill and freeze at his touch, and his fluffy sweater didn't help as much as he'd hoped.

"Maybe you should get some rest, bud."

Hank cautiously put an arm around his shivering body and coaxed him in the direction of his bedroom. His bed would retain more heat than the couch, and Sumo could join him and maybe offer some comfort while he slept.

"Oh... Sir, the couch is the other way."

"I ain't making you sleep on a couch while you're sick," he said while completely glossing over how Connor called him sir. He'd probably address this when Connor's head cleared up a bit.

"I'll be fine by tomorrow," he muttered.

Hank gently rested his hand on his shoulder and pushed down with just enough pressure to get him to sit on the edge of his bed, though not enough to shove him into place. "Don't force yourself to recover, all right?"

Connor opened his mouth as if to speak only to shut it as another wave of shivers made his arms huddle to his chest and legs squeeze together.

"I'm kinda curious, though-" Hank sat next to him, causing the bed to creak much louder than expected, "-I thought you didn't feel cold."

"I d-don't," he stammered through chattering teeth. "This is internal. I'm essentially doing it to myself."

"Uh-huh." Hank shimmied his heavy blanket out from underneath them and smoothly draped it over Connor's shoulders, managing to stop him from shaking so heavily every second or so. "Tell you what. You curl up and get comfortable, and I'll make you some tomato soup." He'd offer chicken broth if it weren't for the fact that he didn't particularly care for meat.

Connor's face, along with his stomach, reflexively scrunched up at the mention of food. He _just_ ate. Granted what he managed to swallow didn't stay in him for very long, but still.

"If that's what you want, Lieutenant."

Eating meant he'd have to sit at a table, right? This in mind, Connor attempted to get up from the bed only to be stopped in his tracks by Hank's hand oh so gently tugging him back down by his shoulder. Good thing too, since the world rapidly spun around him the instant he stood.

"Don't get up so quickly," he warned softly. "Do you think you'd be able to take an aspirin?"

"I don't see why not, but-" he tugged the blanket to cover himself more properly, and wound up running his hand underneath Hank's in the process, "-I'm supposed to be taking care of you. This is all backwards."

Jolts of electricity jumped through the joints in Hank's fingers, causing them to reflexively twitch. "Things don't always work out the way you want them to, and sometimes that's for the best." He then casually retrieved his hand. "Can you wait here for a bit?"

"Physically, yes. But I'm somewhat concerned with you and how you're insisting on being so nice."

"Hey, if it's too much you can tell me to fuck off. Ya won't break my heart or nothin'."

"No, that's not-!" The way his tone shifted to assure Hank he wasn't bothering him- the desperation in it, specifically -caused his voice to catch in his throat. "That's... not the problem."

Hank raised a brow. "Then what is?"

"While I'm very appreciative of your help, you don't **have** to do any of this for me."

"Connor. I'm not gonna sit back and let you suffer all by yourself unless you ask me to; verbally or otherwise. I used to help people out for a living, and I gotta say it's a tough habit to break."

"I see..." He tugged the blanket to hug his body a little tighter. "I have no objections with your actions so long as you allow me to repay you in the future."

"You don't gotta-"

And there they were. The softest, sweetest puppy eyes Hank ever did get the pleasure to view. The way they reflected light reminded him of spoonfuls of honey he'd dip into hot tea, and along with this came the slightest head tilt to grab his attention even harder by the neck.

"...Arrite. But not until you get better."

"Got it."

Hank stood up a little too quickly and saw a miniature galaxy blink into his vision for all of a second. If he sat there any longer he may never want to get up again. Needless to say, he can't make soup if he's stuck staring into the eyes of a pretty boy.

'Pretty boy' danced around in his head for a bit, distracting him momentarily from turning the stovetop on. He considered Connor that without even taking a second to think about it. This didn't mean anything, of course. Hank knew he could find people attractive without actually doing anything with the thoughts and feelings accompanying said attraction. Whether or not choosing to ignore all this was a good thing or not he wasn't sure, nor did he care to find out.

Now, where'd he put those goldfish shaped crackers?

"Is Sumo allowed on the bed?"

Connor leaned back on the headboard, and Sumo curled up into a big fluffy ball next to him. He let himself in the room shortly after Hank left to make soup, and upon seeing Hank's New Friend in bed, he just had to say hello.

"He is, but don't let him steal your food. He **will** try."

Sumo's head picked up after catching a whiff of the soup Hank carried in on a bed tray. Liquid food meant he could skip the chewing and go straight for sticking his whole head in the bowl without choking on anything but his appetite.

"It's just soup and crackers until we know you can keep food down."

Connor did his best to keep from making any sort of distasteful faces at the food lovingly set out over his lap. It didn't look unappetizing, but when your stomach threatens to empty itself at the sight of food you know you'd enjoy, it's hard not to pass judgement on an unfamiliar meal.

"Are these meant to be shaped like fish?" He took a hand out from the warmth of his blanket cocoon to inspect the small pile of crackers beside the bowl. The moment he picked one up between his index and middle finger, Sumo leaned in and sniffed loudly.

"Yeah-" Hank put his hand between Sumo's nose and the food and gently pushed him out of the way until he gave up on lunch theft, "-Too childish for your taste?"

"No," he dropped the single goldfish in the middle of his soup, "I don't think I've ever seen anything like it before is all."

Hank took a seat near Connor while he tentatively began eating. Seeing him eat more than a few bites of pizza gave Hank a warm fuzzy feeling in his fuzzy warm chest, and the way he'd get a spoonful, blow on it until it cooled then placed a single goldfish in the center was incredibly adorable. It also impressed the hell out of him; as a man with no self control, he'd normally dump the crackers in his soup at once and eat it like a bowl of hot cereal.

"How you holdin' up?"

Connor momentarily ceased his stirring of the nearly empty bowl. "I'm less light headed now. And I'm not as cold." He set the spoon down, letting it rest at the edge of the dish. "Everything it still somewhat off, though. I'm not sure how to describe it."

His chest rattled quietly as he took in breaths, and his voice still had that sick, raspy hiss to it. Hank felt fairly sure he had a fever, though without checking his temperature he couldn't say it undoubtedly.

"Can I feel your forehead real quick?"

Could he have asked in a less awkward way not out of the blue? Absolutely. Did he have the mental energy to find one? Not really.

"Of course."

It didn't seem to matter anyway. Hank felt the heat radiate off his face even before the back of his fingers made contact with him, and said contact firmly assured him of his suspicions.

"I get the feeling it's bad."

"It could be worse." Hank pulled away. "Could be a lot better, too. Some aspirin should-"

Connor's stomach churned, making an unhappy gurgling noise.

"Maybe you should just sleep for now."

When Hank took the bed tray after standing, he noticed just how much Connor managed to eat despite his stomach's efforts to continually remain vacant. The only thing left in the bowl was a small puddle of red, and all what remained of the crackers were orange crumbs.

"I get the feeling you're not going to let me wash those."

"Dont worry about it." He shrugged on his way out. "S'only two things."

"Before you go-" Connor interjected, "-You're going to be sleeping in your bed tonight, correct?"

"I kinda figured you'd be more comfortable with me on the couch."

Connor's brow momentarily knitted together in thought. "It is still quite early. If you should change your mind by tonight, I will happily trade places with you."

The soft sincerity in his voice threatened to tug a grin onto Hank's lips. "We'll see. Just try and take it easy until then."

"Got it."

Like every night that came before and like every night to follow suit, the sun eventually set, Hank eventually finished his beer, and the world around the home eventually grew darker and colder.

In the several hours Hank spent organizing, walking, eating, and finally getting the courage to send a few awkward texts to a few of his former coworkers, he only ever saw Connor leave the bedroom once to use the bathroom. Those brief seconds of seeing him vanish behind the door then shuffle back to the warmth of the bed made Hank notice how he looked considerably less corpse-like. From what he could see at his spot on the couch, his lips appeared to regain a bit of their color and his eyes were much less hazy. And if Hank were to judge by the healing scar on the side of his head, he assumed Connor's stitches were out too.

General exhaustion from the day finally gripped onto Hank with all its might, and with it came the urge to mindlessly crawl into bed and pass out. The only thing stopping him was roughly 100 pounds of Sick Boy snuggled up on the left side of the mattress with a dog keeping his feet warm.

"Are you going to bed, Lieutenant?"

Hank stood in the doorway to his bedroom looking over Connor and weighing his options. On one hand, he could sleep on the couch and be somewhat cold all night, but he'd give Connor the space he probably wanted. On the other, he'd be in the comfort of his own bed while possibly taking away the comfort of another.

"Yeah. I think I'm gonna take the couch after all."

Connor gave Hank and once over and... What the hell was that? A whine? "I don't mind sleeping there, I hope you know."

"I'm not taking a warm bed away from you while you're sick. Trust me, it's the worst."

"Then-" Connor scooched over as much as he could without falling off the edge. "-Can we compromise? I don't take up much space, and I'd hate to kick you out of your own room for selfish reasons."

A terrible tightness traveled through Hank's throat. From a logical standpoint, he understood why Connor suggested this. The bed was big enough. He had extra blankets. And Connor couldn't take up much space even if he tried.

"Just for tonight."

Fuck it. There's room. If he kept to one side as well they'd be able to sleep without even feeling the weight of the other.

"Don't be afraid to shake me if I start snoring," Hank said while tugging out a fleece blanket from under the bed.

"I doubt I'll have to. But thank you."

 _That's what so say now,_  he thought after shutting the lights off and making his way over to the opposite side of the bed. _Just wait until you're up at 4 AM because of me._

"Good night, Lieutenant."

Hank rolled over to have his back facing Connor, further putting as much space between them as possible. "G'night."

* * *

  **3:58 AM**

An unusual amount of heat pulled Hank out of his deep sleep, though not enough for him to actually open his eyes. Along with the warmth came the feeling of his arm slung around Sumo, who'd often snuggle up by his face after falling asleep in bed. Did Connor give him a bath when he wasn't looking? Running his fingers through his fur felt... odd. Too clean and straight to belong to the dog Hank knew and loved. And he didn't smell how you'd expect a lumbering old Saint Bernard to.

Did Connor...

 

  
Connor.

In a fit of disbelief, Hank's eyes snapped open, forcing him to literally come face to face with what he hoped wasn't the truth. One way or another, he rolled over and had been cuddling with a person he very much did not want to bother- thank the stars above that he was fast asleep.

Connor slept with the majority of his thin frame pressed up against Hank in an attempt to stay warm. Each breath revealed a faint, sick rattle still inhabiting his chest, and with their faces being mere inches apart, his beauty marks, soft eyelashes and crescent-shaped scar were suddenly all the more noticable despite the darkness draped over his features like a thin veil. His expression held no pain or discomfort, unlike earlier when he struggled to stay upright, and instead remained peaceful as he drew in deep, calm breaths.

Any movement would surely wake him. Even Hank taking away his arm, which he'd miraculously managed to wrap around Connor to pet the back of his head, might break him from his blissful slumber.

 


	11. Elsewhere Is Where The Heart Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter is short. but i liked how this one turned out so i hope you like it too :D
> 
> once again, apologies for any misspellings or grammatical errors. i am only one person, and i am not a very diligent one

As it turns out, moving one's muscular, bear-esque arm away from the sleeping body of a mysterious and extremely tired man is very much like playing one of those rigged claw games with only a single quarter. Every movement, every twitch of muscle and tendon and bend of his joints threatened to wake Connor from a well-deserved rest, and it'd surely be game-over after that. Hank wondered how hard it would be to fling himself through the window if Connor's eyes snapped open, or if he'd even have time to escape after the fact.

Then.

A shift.

The movement of Connor's once completely still body nearly killed Hank instantly. _This is it,_ he thought. _This is the end._ But the end never came. His eyes never opened. In a shocking turn of events, Connor made some soft noises in his sleep, stretched his legs out against Hank, then proceeded to fall back into stillness all while remaining comfortably snuggled against him.

No escape from this hell. Connor obviously enjoyed sleeping so close to another person and may have even slept better with the extra warmth. Hank quite literally made this bed, and as he deemed the risk of waking him by attempting to get up too high, he might as well sleep in it. At least by doing that, he'd let him rest a little while longer.

Hank settled in and relaxed his arm back onto Connor, who still remained completely unconscious throughout his mental gymnastics. Drifting back into sleep took almost no time or effort. Connor's face slowly blurred into a mixture of black and dark blue until his features were no longer visible, and the sound of his steady breathing only further put his mind at ease. It probably wouldn't be so bad when he woke up. He didn't seem like he'd make a big deal out of it, and even if he did, Hank could always point out how he stayed on his side of the bed, which was where Connor wound up. Not like it mattered, anyway. Hank no longer had the brain power to fight off his body's urge to clock out. If he woke up to a panicked and/or pissed twink then so be it. The window would always be there just in case.

* * *

**10:12 AM**

Hank's hand blindly felt around cold bedsheets and blankets for a sign of soft locks of brown hair only to come up with nothing. Opening his eyes revealed that he was, in fact, all alone in bed with a space under his arm where Connor must've slipped through after he fell back asleep. In his place was not Sumo, pure nothingness or even a pillow, but instead a single feather.

Sitting up, Hank held the feather between his index finger and thumb. It looked an awful lot like the kind that'd come from a bluejay, what with the blue and white gradient paired with two black stripes sitting opposite of the hollow quill, though it spanned the length of his hand and then some. Part of his still drowsy brain told him it came from his favorite pillow, but even if that were the case, blue jays don't have ridiculously large enough wings to accomodate for such a thing. Then again, Hank never really liked birds enough to get very close to them, so maybe they were always that size.

Questions concerning the plumage left his mind as quickly as they entered when a loud, abrupt beeping noise invaded his ears and made his heart leap into his throat. The unceasing sound could be none other than one of the smoke detectors in the house, and even before Hank pieced this together, he'd already jumped out of bed and darted off in the direction of the noise.

"Sorry for waking you up."

Within the kitchen, Connor had taken off his suit coat and was running it under the sink while a small fire in a pan burned nearby. At his side, Sumo sat with his head lifted for him to let out a low howl at the hellish beeping that'd been pounding against his ears for a second too long.

"Sugar burns more easily than I assumed."

As if it were the most normal thing in the world, Connor took his soaked coat and plopped it onto the flames with a wet slap. Then, without skipping a beat, he stood on one of the chairs to deactivate the smoke alarm with a few swift movements of his right hand. Doing so caused Sumo to stop his melancholy howl, and he trotted off to sit by the door and wait for his daily walk.

"Are you all right?" Connor asked, getting off the chair. "I wanted to make something sweet, but I overestimated a few things. Is there anything specific you'd like for breakfast?"

The smell of burnt sugar.

The sight of Connor's soggy coat still draped over a singed pan.

The howl that rang in his ears.

"Whiskey."

"Pardon?"

"Whiskey," Hank repeated with his hand rummaging around in the freezer.

"It's not even noon." Connor cautiously approached behind him. "Don't you think it's a little early for this?"

"I could say the same to you." At last, he made contact with the off-brand alcohol he told himself he'd only ever drink if he did so in moderation- a self-made rule he planned to break soon enough. "I normally don't set shit on fire until the sun goes down."

Turning around, Hank about fell out of his skin seeing as he managed to be less than a foot away from him without a sound.

"Please don't drink that."

"I'll do what I want."

Connor's pleading look wasn't going to get to him this time- if he wanted to drown the previous night and recent morning in cheap alcohol, then he was going to do it. However, what he did not take into account was Connor's sudden boldness. He leaned on Hank with his head on his chest, moving him backwards until he pressed firmly up against the fridge behind him.

Wanting both hands free, Hank reached up over his shoulder to put the unopened bottle on top of the fridge for the time being. "The hell are you doing?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted quietly. "I know I'm being selfish for telling you what to do, but please don't drink that."

The weight of another person leaning against and pressed his body against Hank's made his heart race. It somehow felt more intimate than the hug they shared not too long ago, though Hank didn't know why. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Connor initiated it unprompted while the side of his face squished just below his collar bone. And the way he looked up at Hank...

"I'd hate to see anything bad happen to you is all. Please don't think I'm trying to keep you from having fun or living your best life." He sighed loudly into his chest, his voice then taking on a softer, more somber tone. "I'm not just saying these things because I'm meant to, either. I think you're a lovely person, Lieutenant Anderson."

Hank drew in a deep, slow breath in through his nose and out his mouth as discreetly as humanly possible. Those eyes. Those **fucking** eyes melted his already softening heart into a mushy pile. He briefly understood what Kamski meant and why he initially freaked out so hard after seeing Connor, and for a few unholy seconds, the two shared similar thoughts on his sweet face and the variety of other expressions it could be making. Much like his mind, Connor's voice and pretty eyes nearly caused his hands to wander in places they didn't belong.

"Don't tell me you're getting sick." Connor pushed himself up on his toes to get a better look at his reddening face, leading to him standing at a slight angle and leaning even more weight on Hank. "You look feverish. I wouldn't doubt it if you caught something from me after last night."

Hank stared down into the puppy eyes he never knew he wanted. "This isn't because of that and you know it."

"Do I?" He tapped a finger to Hank's chest a few times, his gaze darting away momentarily. "I never thought you would be so easily flustered, Lieutenant." The return of his unwavering eye contact and the lilt in his voice  made him sound proud of his ability to turn his face cherry red after pinning him.

Connor fell back to the flats of his feet, dragging himself down Hank's chest on his descent before taking a step or so back. "My apologies. I didn't mean to keep you here for so long." He looked over his shoulder at his still wet jacket covering the remains of whatever the hell he tried making earlier. "If you go for your daily walk instead of drinking, I can make something for you to eat and clean everything up by the time you return."

Peeling away from the fridge, Hank weighed his options. The burn of whiskey sounded like a great way to waste a day and forget how badly his arms itched to pull Connor back in, but something warm to eat appealed to his stomach infinitely more. "Would it be too much to ask for a grilled cheese?"

"Not at all."

"Just make sure you eat something too."

"I will."

One change of clothes, a leash and a wave later, Hank allowed Sumo to guide him throughout the majority of their walk, only ever pulling him back when he wanted to investigate near some broken glass. The bitter chill in the air helped clear Hank's head of the recent handful of stressful and confusing hours- the unprompted snuggling, the feather, the small fire, Connor's reaction to said fire.

Everything tied back to Connor.

Not that Hank minded much. Sure, having a fire in your home is stressful, and sharing a bed with someone you don't know very well is bound to be awkward, but none of it really left a bad taste in his mouth. If anything, Hank welcomed the sudden changes in his life more willingly than he'd ever accept doing the same things over and over again for the remainder of his days. All the weird shit Connor got into and the mysteries surrounding the poor fella reminded him of being back at work, although the risk of being shot didn't seem as high as it did back then.

A flurry of vibrations coming from his front pocket pulled him away from his thoughts.

Stepping out of the path of a young woman and a little girl, Hank fished his phone from the endless void known as Men's Pockets, swore under his breath, and reached up the lead in his other hand to hold Sumo closer.

 **Kamski:** heyyyyy i have some openings next thurs and fri at like 3-5pm if you boys wanna drop by

God.

God dammit.

Not a single day did it seem like he could escape him.

 **Kamski:** no fancy office tho. just the one at home. got v busy lately

He normally didn't get in contact with Hank for so many days in a row. Then again, it wasn't every day he got a cute and mysterious roommate.

 **Kamski:** lmk if/when you wanna do this, boo  <3

And as always, Hank never did understand the majority of the messages he received. The combination of outdated and rarely used slang mixed with the walls of emojis he'd often be spammed with often left him confused and mildly irritated.

"Welcome home, Lieutenant."

The moment the front door swung open, Hank noticed Connor's face and the way it lit up. The second thing he noticed was the once soggy suit coat back where it belonged minus any traces of water or burning.

He either had more than one, or the Magician Theory held more water than he initially speculated.

Hank removed Sumo's leash, and like any other good boy after a walk, he went to get a drink and a quick snack. "Were you waiting here for me?"

"Not the entire time, no." He walked ahead of Hank to point out the plate of still hot grilled cheese, as requested, left on the coffee table. "I cleaned up and cooked again. I hope everything is to your liking."

"Thanks, Con." His hand reflexively reached out to ruffle Connor's hair, and unlike any other time, his willpower didn't stop it from happening until his palm hovered close enough to make contact with the tallest strands. From that point on he stood frozen, knowing it was far too late to make a smooth recovery from such hasty actions.

In an act he would describe as nothing short of a miracle, Connor raised his heels to make up the missing space. He must've seen the despair in Hank's eyes or something- the likes of which was visible from a mile away. "I'm glad I could help."

Soft.

Very soft.

Ungodly soft.

Every lock. Every strand. Every bit of hair he ruffled in his worn hand. They curled around his rough digits almost lovingly, pleading for him to curl his fingers and give it the slightest tug to get his attention without being rough.

"I'm guessing you didn't eat yet," Hank commented as he took his hand away.

Connor dropped back down to the flats of his feet. "What makes you say that?"

"Heard yer stomach growl."

"Oh." He tugged at his collar. "I suppose I should make something then."

And off he scurried back into the kitchen; his natural habitat, it seemed.

Lying to a friend, even within good reason, never left Hank feeling great about himself. It kept him from actually enjoying the food in front of him in favor of drowning out his thoughts in the endless barrage of meaningless information from the television. Ads seemed to play longer and longer as each year went by, and inevitably, when they outlasted the show they were played in between, he'd have to find a new hobby, if he managed to live that long. Maybe stitching or sewing would catch his eye. Then he might finally be able to get Sumo a sweater in his size.

"May I sit next to you?"

In a fashion he should have been more used to already, Connor materialized beside him with a flimsy paper plate of something rather warm and sweet-smelling.

"Go for it."

Despite him only being gone for about three minutes, he came back with what appeared to be a fried tortilla smeared with peanut butter and couple of those semi-sweet chocolate chips Hank kept whenever he wanted to eat a fistful of small, pellet-like objects, as any other older man who lives alone does.

Or... _lived_ alone, rather.

The TV remained on mostly as background noise, and Connor seemed fairly content with not saying a word as they ate. Any other roommate or guest Hank ever had, he'd either never shut up or the person'd be talking his ear off if he gave them the chance. But not Connor. In fact, and even more unusually so, he didn't sit all stiff with his feet firmly planted on the floor. His legs crossed to hold up his plate, and every now and then he'd sway just the tiniest bit. He looked comfortable for once. Relaxed, even. Possibly for the first time, or at least the first time Hank actively noticed.

"Lieutenant?"

Speaking of firsts, Connor's voice out of the blue didn't scare the hell out of him. "Yeah?"

He relocated his empty plate to the coffee table, then proceeded to uncross one of his legs to pivot himself in Hank's direction. "There has been something bothering me that will most likely affect you. Is it okay for me to share it?" Nervous hands fiddled with and plucked the ends of his sleeves. While talking suddenly became a chore, Connor didn't want to turn back after already speaking up. "You do not have to listen if you currently lack the emotional room for my problems."

Hank felt his brow twitch. Asking for permission to share your problems with someone you live with aside, _emotional room_ sounded a hell of a lot like therapist talk. Not the kind he had with Kamski, who had basically turned into a friend who listened to his problems and gave professional advice. The kind you'd hear from an article on a .org website.

"I got room. Tell me about it." **~~Tell me everything. You never talk about yourself.~~**

"I have been thinking about something ever since-" he paused, quickly shutting his mouth. "...For a while now." He dragged his fingers through his somewhat messy hair, and such action almost perfectly fixed where Hank scrunched everything up. "Would you continue letting me live here if I were simply a boring, normal human?"

"Well, for starters, not a fuckin' thing about you is boring." A person who can necromance plants, seemingly teleport, and heave a very unconscious and very heavy man from a car wreck didn't sound average, at least. "And you're my friend, so hell yeah. But I'm probably gonna have to get you your own bed, angel or not."

Connor sat in place as the television continued filling the room with empty noise. He no longer swayed, and his eyes remained fixed on a single invisible point of nothing in particular. In this time with nothing but commercials keeping the ringing in Hank's ears at bay, he too sat in nothingness while pondering over the look on Connor's face. He couldn't tell if he was lost in thought or if perhaps his words had unknowingly touched a nerve. Either way, the gears in his head turned a few more times before the white noise dissipated like a thick fog confronted with a warm gust of wind.

"I remembered something," Connor said, eyes glowing with joyful realization in Hank's direction. "I think you're my first friend."


	12. You Can Call Me Pollyanna

"You gonna be okay?"

Hank looked over at Connor as he adjusted his tie, which had been tossed about in the chilly breeze. "I have to talk about myself if I want to begin recovery." He looked up at him, eyes still unreadable after having lived with him for almost two weeks. "Despite my bad feeling about this, I know it's for the best."

A gentle hand patted Connor on the back while they walked through just enough snow to crunch beneath their footsteps. "We can leave anytime if it's too much, arright?"

"No." Eyes closed, Connor shook his head. "No, it's fine. It's not as though the circumstances are the cause of my irrational thoughts."

The same hand on his back moved to pull Connor against Hank's side. "I know, I know." _God_ did he know. "I'm just sayin' your comfort is more important."

The soft _m-hm_ Connor let out didn't create a puff of steam like his normal speaking did. "Has Mister Kamski always lived in such a big house?"

 **House.** Sure. Normal people don't live in perfectly rectangular houses with windows that take up most of the walls they're on. "His parents were loaded, so yeah. Probably." It was technically a villa, but still. If you live in it, it's a house to Hank.

"Elijah will be with you momentarily."

When first entering the villa, Chloe greeted them in a waiting room of sorts, that of which was decorated to give off a modern vibe; plain white walls, minimal knicknacks, no bright colors. Nothing but two maroon chairs, a couple doors, a gas fireplace adorned with roses on its shelf, and a large painting hanging on the rightmost wall.

It wasn't long before Connor disappeared behind one of the doors for his session, leaving Hank to sit quietly in one of the chairs. Something about the whole situation felt familiar. The chair he sat in. The blue dress Chloe wore. The painting of a woman. And it felt as though a few things were missing, one of which being Connor and how he'd most likely be reading whatever text the plaque below the painting said.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" Chloe asked. "Tea, snacks, cigarettes?"

"Thanks, but I'm good." As tempting as a smoke sounded, he'd rather turn down her offer with a smile. And the 'snacks' Kamski always had were usually fruit or weird vegan shit.

Speaking of Kamski, he poked his head out of the door him and Connor went through, crooked a finger at Chloe rather urgently, and before he knew it Hank really was all alone. Just him. The other chair. And the painting.

After being left alone for less than five minutes, Hank got up and went to investigate the piece of art that'd been staring him down since he arrived. He couldn't quite tell what it was from a distance, but up close it was obviously an artist's depiction of a middle-aged black woman dressed elegantly in white and teal. Behind her, a wall of lattice filled with thorny vines and dark blue roses were painted in striking detail, and so was the sunlight shining on a few surfaces as though being filtered through sparse clouds or a small tree. Beneath the whole affair sat a gold plaque with a bit of text professionally etched into it.

 **Amanda Stern**  
**May 14, 1978 - February 23, 2027**  
**A loving friend and irreplaceable mentor.**

Hank blinked slowly, his eyes wandering over the various realistic details while his mind wandered elsewhere. It couldn't have been recently installed if Amanda died over a year ago, and yet he hadn't noticed it up until then.

"I believe Markus painted that."

Unlike Connor, Hank actually heard Chloe enter the room, and he also saw her out the corner of his eye.

"No kiddin'?" Even after the attack, he could still paint just like his dad without much change aside from the general improvement that comes with so much practice.

"If I recall correctly, it was a gift." She took a moment to stand beside Hank as she spoke. "That is... until Elijah refused to accept it unless Markus allowed him to pay for it. So I suppose it's a blind commission now."

"If you're good at something," the man himself entered the soon-to-be cramped waiting room, Connor following close behind, "you should _never_ do it for free."

"I don't think anyone's gonna pay me for being a depressed bastard, Kam."

"That's because you've been recovering," Kamski retorted with a smile. "Soon enough you'll just be a regular bastard."

"Do you address all of your clients like this?" Connor piped up, moving away from the doorway and over to Hank, who normally wouldn't enjoy being so close to more than one person.

"Nope. Hank's my special boy."

"Don't call me that."

"Oh, exc _uuuuu_ se me. My special **man**."

"Dude."

"My special bastard."

"Elijah-" Chloe placed herself between the two, "-didn't you want to speak with Hank in private?"

"Oh!" He clapped his hands together. "Right, right." He gestured for Hank to follow his as he disappeared yet again into the other room. "C'mere, it's important."

The first time Hank ever talked to Kamski in his home, he nearly ran out of the building with intentions of never returning. Little did he know, the room he prefered to do his chats in contained an indoor swimming pool. Now, Hank didn't fall into it or anything along those lines. It was quite a ways away from the door, sitting to the left of the enormous room. The issue he had with it in that moment was the fact that the dark red tiles lining the bottom and sides made it look as though it were filled with blood. As ridiculous as it is, Hank took one look at the thing and was ready to either leap out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows across from him, or beat the hell out a potential maniac.

"What's up?" Hank asked, walking around the edge of the pool.

"I'm just-" he picked up a white pen from a small, circular table by a set of chairs, which wasn't actually a pen but a stylus for his tablet, then picked up its matching device and gave it a few taps, "-really excited to talk about Connor's memories since he gave me the okay to do so. And, you know, some other things but we'll get to those later."

"Arrite-" he sat down, as did the other, "but why do this in private?"

"You'll see in a sec. For now, I'd really want to share what we learned so far and how we can help; if you don't mind me rambling for a bit, that is."

Hank shrugged a single shoulder. "Go for it. The more I know, the more I can help, yeah?"

He nodded, and placed his tablet on his leg folded across the other. "So! Common ways to recover lost memories include having the person affected do things they did and go places they went before losing them. The zen garden Connor mentioned would be an excellent start, but there's nothing like that in Detroit- not that the way he described it is reliable, anyway." He brought the pen to mouth, tapping it against his lip as he read something from the tablet. "Trauma victims rarely remember in coherent, chronological order. Things get mixed up and lost. They tend to fill in missing pieces of the distant past with whatever memories they can grasp. And like the demented taxidermist that is the human mind, it can and will stitch everything together into a horrific, nonsensical beast." He smiled at Hank, obviously feeling a bit of tension with his less than comforting words hanging in the air. "In a way, it's my job to find out what limb belongs to which animal. With enough time, I think we can at least find out what caused him to be this way."

_This way._

"You don't think he needs to be sent to a psych ward or anything, does he? Because of the whole, you know," he waved his hand around in a continuing motion, "angel thing."

"Mental health center," Kamski corrected, "And I don't think so. It isn't interfering with how he interacts with the world, as far as I know. He's safe with an ex-cop and a big dog, and he doesn't seem to be a danger to himself or anyone else."

"Uhh. Define interfering."

"He isn't talking about getting his wings stuck when he walks through the door or anything along those lines." He looked down at his screen and let out a soft chuckle. "I actually knew a girl just like that when I was institutionalised. What a sweetheart."

"You've been institutionalised?"

"Oh, most mental health professionals are mentally ill," he dismissed. "That's how many of us come into this field, actually. But! That's a story for another day." He used the pen to flip through a few digital pages, scanning over most of them briefly before stopping on his fifth or sixth set of notes. "How has it been having Connor live with you so far?"

"I 'unno," he half mumbled. "I'd imagine it's like having a maid, I guess."

Kamski hummed in thought as he scribbled something down. "How do you feel about Connor is general?"

The way he stared up at Hank, despite them being seated several feet apart, raised an eyebrow or two. He didn't break eye contact nor did he blink until Hank began speaking.

"Good..? He feels like a friend who never complains or asks for anything, and it honestly kinda bugs me sometimes."

"Oh? Shouldn't you be happy about that?"

"I should, but I'm not. My other roommates or guests always had something to bitch about."

"M-hm. I see." More scribblings, and he spoke without looking up. "Why do you think this makes you unhappy?"

"Fuck, I dunno. Why? Should it not?"

"Personally, the only time I'm irked when someone doesn't speak up about their issues is when I have particularly strong feelings for said person."

No.

"Hank..."

He couldn't be.

"...Do you have feelings for Connor?"

Hank froze in his seat, his hands tightening and fingers curling against their rests. "No," he stated. "I'm old enough to be his **dad.** "

"And you think he wouldn't like you because of that?"

"Aside from how unhealthy it'd be, yeah. If he... you know, I mean- since he feels the need to look after me." He briefly rubbed a hand over his face. "You can see how that's not right, don't you?"

"Trust me, I understand where you're coming from. However! That-" he bit his tongue. Literally. The words would have fallen out on their own if he hadn't. "If you want to see for yourself if it's healthy or not, I suggest speaking with Connor instead of me."

Soon enough, Hank's mental energy for socializing began to drain rapidly, and he needed to return home to recharge. He thanked Kamski for his time, was pulled into a bear hug, to which he countered by nearly snapping him in half before going on his way.

Back in the waiting room, Connor and Chloe chatted up until Hank entered. Connor stopped mid-conversation to give him a little wave.

"Are you finished already?"

After everything Kamski told him, Hank suddenly found it difficult to look Connor in the eye. _Do you have feelings for Connor?_ Of course not. Even if he did, they'd be one-sided and he'd never breathe a word of them to him. He couldn't imagine how awkward it would be for such a sweet young man to have to deal with some creepy old dude harboring romantic feelings for him. Just how badly would he take the news? Would he get upset? Act distant towards him? Leave?

Not that it mattered.

"Pretty much. You ready to get goin'?"

"Yes, of course."

Connor said his farewells before leaving the building and following Hank close behind and approached his car.

Hank expected him to start talking his ear off when they finally got moving, but instead of Connor even asking about his experience or how things went, he sat leaned against his door and traced a finger across the glass where his breath fogged it up. He didn't speak a word to Hank or to hear himself talk for the first few minutes of their drive, and the lack of his usually perfect posture set off a variety of red flags.

Hank cleared his throat, breaking the unbearable silence before filling it with his own voice. "You okay there, Con?"

"I don't think that's important right now."

Like an old knife through cold butter, Hank felt a dull yet persistent stabbing pain right next to his heart. Connor sounded so tired. Even with the lack of emotion his voice normally carried, it still typically had an energy to it. He never came off as uninterested or upset, not even when he was sick.

"You, uh. You wanna talk about something on your mind?"

"Not really." His hand stopped momentarily. "Not unless you want me to."

Hank gripped the steering wheel more tightly than normal as he made a turn. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm here to listen, okay?"

"M-hm..."

With him facing the window, Hank couldn't see much of his expression or if he wore a noticeable one at all. From the glympse of the eyes he caught reflecting against the glass, Hank was greeted by the same painful sensation as before. For better or worse, he knew those empty, exhausted eyes far too well, and they'd fit Hank much better than him.

There had to be something Hank could do to cheer Connor up without pitying him. But how? With a gift? A favor? Fuck. What did he even like? Being helpful, sure, but he needed something without having to work for it. He liked being around Sumo, he liked chocolate (no matter how bitter or sweet, even the cheap stuff with the funny aftertaste), he liked...

He liked Hank, right? Sure he did. What a dumb question to ask himself. Connor wouldn't be so friendly if he weren't at least fond of him. Unless he only did it so Hank wouldn't feel so bad about being old and having two and a half friends.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yeah?"

"Mister Kam- Ah." Connor sat up straight and began looking more like himself already. "Elijah suggested I make an effort to ask for things more often, and not to do things solely on behalf of somebody else."

So he wasn't the only person who saw it.

"With this in mind, feel free to ignore my request if you'd like."

"Lay it on me, bud."

Connor stared down at his hands, plucking his shirt cuff as though he were adjusting it. Silence filled up the small amount of air in the car yet again, only to dissipate after becoming obvious.

"Would it be okay for me to h-"

Hank's foot slammed down on the brakes seconds after pulling up in front of the house. Connor nearly collided with the dashboard, the seatbelt over his chest keeping him firmly in place though perhaps bruising him slightly. Without a word, Hank exited the car and stormed up to the front door, the likes of which was wide open and exposed a torn-apart interior. Connor followed suit, keeping a safe distance away from him as he searched through every room for an intruder. The couch had been skewed, the coffee table upturned, drawers and doors open and their contents scattering the once spotless floors and counters. Despite the mess, nothing seemed to be missing.

"Have you seen Sumo?"

Nothing aside from someone Hank cherished.

"No, I haven-"

A sharp push moved Connor out of his way before he bolted out the door once again. Sumo had Hank's full attention, and while he haphazardly searched the snow for prints, he duly considered apologizing to Connor for behaving so rudely.

Amidst the footprints the two made upon entering, and the new ones made by Hank shortly after, were several sets of large ones made by a dog but nothing else. No sign of anyone breaking in that way. The door didn't appear to have been forced open, either.

At last, though somewhat faded, Hank found a continuous trail of prints to follow. They belonged to Sumo and Sumo alone, and in a way he prefered that to finding evidence of someone going with him. If it was just his dog, he wouldn't be too hard to track down.

"Lieutenant!"

Right before rounding a corner, Connor came from nowhere, as per usual.

"Go home," Hank demanded, his voice coming out rough and filled to the brim with disdain. "Right now. Leave." If he got distracted because of him and lost the trail-

Blood.

Bloody paw prints. A variety of men's footprints. A scuffle, from the looks of the messy snow and light amounts of smeared, now frozen, blood.

And nothing.

The trail went cold immediately after. No more blood. No more traces of Sumo or whoever was with him. Nothing human or animal, or anything in between or beyond. Nothing but untouched snow on concrete. Nothing but the wind whipping up what remained of the prints behind him. Nothing but the premature dark falling over the November evening. Only the blood running in his ears and the unbearable sound of his heart pounding against his oh, so sore chest.

**I can't.**

Sumo is gone.

**I can't lose another one.**

He's gone and he's never coming back.

**I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE.**

Empty, the ribcage of a man with nothing else. Dull static diluted with the sound of ceaseless rushing water. Nails against concrete. Nails against skin. Against blood. Against muscle. Against bone. Heat leaking from the wound and swallowed up by the Earth before his frozen and bloodied knees. Words running down the sides of his face, down his beard, freezing by the time they hit the bitter ground. Frigid water filling his lungs, his throat, his mouth, his stomach. Eyes unable to see anything but red on white on grey. Nothing grabbing him by the throat and digging its putrid nails into the soft skin of his neck.

 **I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I** R **CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T** A **LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LO   ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE E          NE ELSE I CAN'T LO** 9 **SE ANY     ELSE I CAN'T LO     NYONE ELSE I CAN'T            ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE E     AN'T LOSE ANYONE ELSE I CAN'T          ONE ELSE I       NYONE ELSE I CAN'T LOSE ANYONE ELS        CAN'T LOSE A     CAN'T L E ANYONE CAN'        AN'T LOSE ANYONE E     I CAN'         NYONE E     E I ANY        CAN'T            NYON          AN'T ELSE I CAN'          NYONE              'T LOS E AN             L SE I CAN'           ONE ELSE**

**I                             T                               LO                            YON                                SE**

  
"Sir."

A calming voice, one of many that'd only now been accepted into the mayhem within his skull, helped him draw in his first unhindered breath. Just barely registering in his head and pushing until his ears acknowledged its efforts to get through to him.

"Lieutenant."

Again. Almost soothing, it washed over him like a warm rolling wave. While slow, his hands regained feeling, and his ears no longer rang with drowning white noise.

"Please look at me."

Eyes focused on more than vague colors and shapes, and while the world still looked bleak and drab as ever, the person standing in front of him shined brighter than the sun on a hot July afternoon.

Not to mention the surprise in his arms.

Carried like an oversized baby, Sumo hung his head over Connor's arm, his tongue lolling out and his fuzzy tail wagging in the wind. He looked awful happy for a dog who caused his dad's soul to temporarily slip from his body and into a meat grinder. And Connor held him. Effortlessly. Sumo weighed nearly two hundred pounds, meanwhile Connor might fall over if the wind blew hard enough.

The absurdity of it all, paired with Sumo's soft whines and the way Connor held him as one would hold a small, sleepy child pulled Hank back down to Earth. No more ringing. No more hollow aches filling the void of his chest. No more nails digging into his thighs. No more ignoring legs that bled through his pants from falling to his knees.

"Aside from a cut on his paw," Connor began, his voice sounding more hoarse than Hank remembered it being, yet just as pleasant to hear, "-he's fine. Are you well enough to drive?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pacing was probably weird, and I am not very good at writing dramatic scenes, but I hope you enjoyed the Edge.


	13. Sad Machine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this chapter :>
> 
> Also. I may have said this before but my memory resembles that of a wet paper bag.  
> I'm bad at replying to comments. Sometimes I forget, and sometimes my brain stops working and it doesn't let me say anything.  
> Please know that I appreciate every comment.

Blurry lights and gray squares flashed across the windshield, mixed with the occasional peppering of snowflakes. The evening grew more and more quiet the longer Hank drove, and the more time passed the more his grip on reality tightened. Words sounded like words instead of noise. Traffic lights made more sense and stopped flickering out of his vision every few seconds. His body no longer felt weightless. Faces became recognizable.

Hank looked in the rearview mirror. Sumo sat in the back with one of his front paws lifted up, the sides of which were caked in dirt and dried blood. That aside, he perked up when Hank looked his way, so things could arguably be worse.

Connor, on the other hand, fell asleep shortly after entering the vehicle. With his head leaned back in his seat, his eyes were closed and hands folded on his lap. And he wasn't resting his eyes, either. Hank tried talking to him in hopes to apologize for earlier, only to be met with a resounding silence. From that point on, he kept quiet.

Through fuzzy memories and mostly gut instinct, they finally arrived. Sumo whined from the back seat, not happy about the familiar scene and even less happy about knowing he'd have to leave his dad and his new friend behind for an undetermined amount of time.

Hank briefly looked back at Connor and wondered if he should wake him. He'd only be gone for a bit. Connor's an adult. It's November. He wasn't going to melt or suffocate if he sat there for a few minutes. And he looked so peaceful. It'd be a shame to bring him back to the land of the conscious.

"I know, I know." From the back door, Hank scooped Sumo into his arms and kissed him on his soft little forehead as his pleas grew louder. "You hate these places as much as I do the human ones, don'tcha?" Those precious eyes would be the death of him, as would be the resentment he held towards himself for bringing such a good boy back to a place he hated. "You'll get lots of treats when we get home, m'kay?"

Sumo's tail wagged and mouth opened to show a sort of 'smile,' though he still whimpered after being taken inside and during his entire evaluation, which was done by a nice young man by the name of Josh, who'd actually tended to Sumo in the past.

Stitches. Bandages. One of those funny looking cones since Sumo was prone to eating things on his body. It'd take less than an hour for everything to be done, and in the time it took for Hank to get back to the car while he waited, his previous worry vacated his body and had been replaced with anger. Who the **fuck** broke into his house and let his dog out? The bastard didn't even take anything. They just made a mess and directly contributed to his best friend's injury and misfortune. When he found them he'd cut their foot open and have them run around barefoot in the dark for a while. Maybe have them walk over some glass or gravel. See how _they_ like it.

"Is Sumo all right?"

His anger must've gotten the better of him. He could've sworn he shut the car door more quietly when taking a seat next to Connor.

"He'll be fine, he-" Oh, right. "Ah... Shit. Hey, look, I- I'm sorry about shovin' ya and being rude and all that earlier."

Connor brought a hand up to his mouth to cover a yawn. "It's fine. Given the circumstances, your actions were perfectly rational. I shouldn't have gotten in your way, either."

"Connor, no." No no no. None of that. "Just because I had a reason doesn't mean it was right. You didn't do anything wrong, ya hear?"

Pleading blue eyes stared Connor down, effectively keeping him from putting the blame where it didn't belong. Since when did Hank look so pretty? Perhaps not pretty in the same sense a younger man is, but more along the lines of looking very... soft. Lovable. Like the kind of guy who'd offer to buy you **and** your boyfriend a drink.

"...Okay. If you say so."

The sound of an opening door pulled Connor's attention to the veterinary clinic. Light filtered through the large front windows, illuminating the dark November evening and shining off the hood of Hank's car.

"Weren't you gonna ask me something?" His voice pulled Connor's attention away from the vet. "Before all this happened, I mean. I cut you off earlier."

"Oh." He glanced down at his lap. "It's kind of silly, actually. And I'm not entirely sure if you would be comfortable with it."

That soft little _oh_ at the beginning tugged at Hank's heart just right, making his arm reflexively reach up to pat him on the shoulder. "Hey, if it's really that bad we can always act like nobody said anything."

"I appreciate your offer. And- again, this is going to sound very odd, so feel free to ignore it." Connor shifted some to face him, and crossed his legs instead of sitting with them hanging off his seat. "Would it be okay for me to hold your hand?"

Hank... heard him correctly, didn't he? His touch-starved brain didn't just imagine that? Connor actually, genuinely wanted to hold his hand? To touch him? _Him?_ This man?

"You don't have to," Connor said the moment he noticed his wide, unsure eyes. "Please forget I asked."

"You didn't even get an answer from me yet." Hank moved his hand from his shoulder and held it in front of him, his palm facing up and fingers partially spread. "I just wasn't expecting that to be what you wanted."

"I see." Staring down at his target, Connor's own hand made its slow and cautious descent onto Hank's. The heel of his palm rested at the tip of his middle finger, and from there the very end of Connor's only made it to the center of his hand. If he were to wrap his digits around any of Hank's fingers, he wouldn't be able to hold the entire thing at once. "I'm not making you go out of your way for me, am I?" His eyes trailed upwards to meet his line of sight and lingered there in spite of the odd feeling doing so gave him.

"Nah. Even if you were, I wouldn't mind."

A change in pressure urged his hand to tilt to one side, and to the best of his ability, Connor attempted to 'hold' it, as one does. This lead to a few awkward tries at grabbing and holding him, only for his fingers to not quite make it.

"Um." Connor withdrew his arm a bit. "Your hand is too big for me to hold properly."

Connor's face held an unintentional pout, and he started up with those big, beautiful, and painfully sad eyes of his. Oh, the humanity. Hank couldn't leave him like that. He worked up the courage to ask for something for once, and he was going to get it.

Hank repositioned himself, and pushed his fingers up Connor's palm, moving slowly and feeling every last inch of his soft, delicate skin. He moved at a gradual pace until their digits lined up, then curled forward, intertwining them as Connor did the same. "How's this?"

Words gathered into a tight mass in the center of his throat. Connor had turned a lovely shade of red and fidgeted some in place, his legs squeezing together a barely noticeable amount.

"Too much?" Hank asked, moving his fingers apart for Connor to pull away if he so desired.

He swallowed. "No. No, this is exactly what I wanted." His head tilted, and eyes looked over how small he was when directly compared to Hank. "But I was hoping it would feel more familiar."

"You say that like you've never done this before."

Hank felt the other's fingers twitch after he spoke. "There's a reason for that."

It took everything in him not to ask a line of invasive questions then and there. Was he seriously implying that he'd never held hands with anyone before? Even after being alive for nearly thirty years? Not even in high school or with close friends?

_I think you're my first friend._

"Thank you for doing this for me." Connor gently untangled their fingers, allowing his own to rest on his lap like before. "However, I feel as though I may melt if we continue."

He'd melt.

He'd melt because of Hank.

If Connor was going to melt, then Hank was about to explode from the inside out, starting with his racing heart.

Mentally stepping over a cluster of fucks in his mind, Hank found the words he needed to keep the conversation from falling into 'why did I say that' territory. "Anything else you wanted?"

"No. I've asked for enough already."

 ~~Please ask for more.~~ "I gotcha." Just getting him to ask for something in the first place was a huge step in the right direction. Pushing him any further would only stress him out. "You wanna head inside with me and see if Sumo's ready to go home?"

* * *

  
"Make sure you change his bandage if it gets dirty so he doesn't get an infection."

Josh, the vet, handed Sumo's bright orange temporary leash to Hank as he spoke, telling him the ins and outs of how to properly care for his fuzzy friend without talking down to or patronizing him. Meanwhile, Sumo looked up at his dad through the cone around his head and licked his nose in anticipation. He might not have been able to see everything around him, and his paw felt funny with the stitches and pink, sock-like bandage on it, but he wagged his tail regardless.

One payment, a bundle of disposable bandages, and a final rundown on keeping Sumo happy and healthy later, and they were back in the car on their way home. Connor kept Sumo company in the back seat, petting him and giving him soft assurances he thought Hank couldn't hear. Every now and then, Hank looked in the rear view mirror, and every time he did, Sumo's ears twitched, ready for more praise. Goofy looking cone aside, he didn't seem bothered at all by the day's inconveniences.

"Sumo looks like a lamp," Connor said amidst exiting the car and walking inside with him and Hank. "Don't you think so?"

"I dunno about that. He looks more like a martini glass to me." Hank undid his leash, allowing Sumo to waddle over to his food and completely engulf the silver bowl with his opaque cone. "Maybe a vacuum."

As if nothing happened, everyone went back to their routine for the day, and a soothing atmosphere fell over the house. Sumo ate and continued to look silly while being given a bone-shaped treat, Connor contemplated on making spaghetti for dinner, and Hank...

"Hey, Con?"

"Mmm?" Connor looked over his shoulder as to not leave the kitchen stove unattended while boiling a pot of generously salted water.

Hank reached up into one of the cupboards to retrieve a half-empty box of angel hair noodles. "You ever gonna tell me how you found Sumo?" He set the box next to the stove, easily within Connor's reaching distance. "As much as I'd like to believe he magically appeared in your arms, I kinda want the full story."

"I'm not sure." Connor dumped the box in his hand, and snapped the bundle of noodles in half before dropping them into the pot. "I thought I couldn't find him, either. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts, and when they reopened, I found myself beside him." He rummaged around through a drawer until he found something to stir with. A wooden spoon would do. "He didn't appear near me. I appeared near _him_."

Hank let out a loud sigh- not an annoyed one, but one that made Connor's heart jump. "You sure? You're not just saying this so I'll shut up and stop askin' questions?"

"Positive. And I enjoy answering your questions." He placed the spoon across the top of the pot. "If it is any consolation, focusing on unexplainable past events and holes in my memories makes me..." Connor paused, his expression shifting and presenting more uncomfortably.

Hank wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer to his side like earlier. He didn't feel nearly as frail as when he first found him, though Hank wasn't sure if he imagined this or not.

Connor leaned into Hank's embrace and rested his head near his chest, hearing the soft thumps of his heartbeat and feeling his strong arm holding him so tenderly.

"It makes me dizzy if I think too hard about these things."


	14. Under The Boardwalk

Like most men with a lot on their mind, Hank sometimes found himself lying awake at ungodly hours. Not even thinking about the troubles of the upcoming days. Simply blinking up at the ceiling, which came more and more into focus until he could see the thin cracks running across it. He’d seen them hundreds of times across nights that went on for ages. The same branching cracks and little bumps from years of old paint and humidity not mixing well together. His eyes went over the same nightstand, the same dresser, and the same ceiling he saw every day. Same walls. Same curtains. Same closet. Same alarm clock with numbers he couldn’t be bothered to read.

Different dark figure standing at his doorway.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me all night?”

“I didn’t expect you to be awake,” Connor admitted as if that would fix everything, his voice soft and barely cutting through the dark. “Sorry. I’ll go.”

“You don’t manifest in my fucking room and-” Hank’s hand fumbled around until his clumsy, tired fingers found their way to his bedside lamp, clicking it on. “-and leave without any kinda explanation.”

“I doubt any explanation I give will make the situation less awkward for either of us.”

“Just fucking tell me.”

Connor tugged at the bottom of his oversized shirt, letting his hands vent out the urge to leave as quickly as possible.

**JUST**

**TELL ME**

“I had a nightmare, and I couldn’t tell whether it was real or not.” It sounded to childish for him to say it out loud. “I wanted to make sure you were still here.” But if Hank wanted reasons, then he’d get them.

A loud sigh accompanied the creaking of the bed as Hank sat up and patted some of the unused surface area at his side. “Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t.” Connor sat next to him, allowing his legs to hang off the side of the bed and shaky hands to fold on his lap. “Sorry again.”

No matter how the situation looked from whatever angle, Hank’s guilt boiled up in his guts at the thought of sending Connor away. From experience, he knew that even the most ridiculous nightmares at two in the morning can be absolutely horrifying- at least until the following day comes around.

“You think crashing in my bed for the night would do any good?”

Connor let out a soft little _oh_ , and both his demeanor and tone of voice perked up. “Would you really be all right with that? Even after my violation of your privacy?”

He reached over to his side and retrieved a second pillow out from under the thick blankets. “Do whatever makes you the most comfortable.” The sooner this was settled, the sooner Hank could get back to pretend sleeping.

Less than a moment of silenced passed before Connor made is choice; that of which being, to stay with Hank. He shuffled over to the opposite side of the bed and made himself comfortable on all but the edge after getting beneath the bedding. “I’ll stay over here this time.”

“Uh-huh.” Sure you will. The words faded in and out of Hank’s mind in the same instant he clicked the lamp off, leaving the room pitch black once again. “G'night.”

* * *

Soft breathing accompanied by subtle movements beneath warm blankets and gentle sunlight stirred Hank from his deep, comfortable sleep. Consciousness flowed into his head like a small yet persistent stream until his eyelids no longer felt heavy and his body urged him to get up and take a shower. Hank let out a yawn, and peered through unfocused eyes to see that a certain someone was still out cold.

Connor rested on his side less than an arm’s length away. I’ll be staying over here this time. Granted, he wasn’t squished up against Hank, but he still scooted a considerable amount of distance in his direction; not that he minded. Seeing him up close, Hank noticed the slightest increase in color on his face, along with a light dusting of pink.

Any unpleasant memories of the previous night dissipated like smoke in a powerful fan. Even as Connor’s eyes cracked open, even as the wind outside blew hard enough to make the house creak, even when Sumo rolled over on his ankle, Hank found it difficult to stop a stupid, saccharine smile from hooking its way onto his lips. He was so pretty. So fucking pretty. So warm and fuzzy and happy looking with the softest little smile of his own.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

And of course those were his first words upon regaining consciousness.

“Why don'tcha take a break from all that today,” Hank said in his gravely morning-voice as he peeled himself away from the mattress.

“Oh. Are you sick of my cooking?”

“That ain’t it.” With the tilt of his head and his arms stretching up above, several satisfying pops and cracks helped his reenter the land of the conscious. “You’ve been feedin’ me and keeping shit clean and all that. S'only fair for me t’ let ya have lazy days too.”

“I see.” Connor followed his lead and stretched out in bed, only instead of getting up, he rolled over onto his stomach, then continued resting with his arms underneath his pillow. “Can I stay in bed for a bit longer, then?”

Hank tugged his leg free of Sumo’s weight and made his descent to the floor. “Go for it. Just don’t let me forget to make you something to eat, m'kay?”

“I’ll try.”

Finally out of bed, he gathered up some clean clothes and made his way to the shower before he lost motivation to do so. The last thing he saw before leaving his room was Sumo moving in to steal his still warm spot, and Connor lifting an arm to scratch his ear.

Hank remembered to turn the hot water down and to be mindful of the tube of lipstick left on the sink. He made sure to use conditioner so his hair wouldn’t feel like death when it touched his face or when he ran his hands through it. After getting out of the shower and drying said hair, Hank took one look at his face in the mirror and reached for his electric razor. The thick and well-groomed beard he once prided himself over had turned into a bushy, scraggly mess that only a bit of deforestation would be able to fix. All he needed was quick trim to tame the tangles of salt and pepper facial hair, and with that said and done, he left the bathroom with a spring in his step and a more gentleman-like beard.

The growling in Hank’s stomach swiveled his attention to the kitchen, but knowing Connor wouldn’t be showing off his cooking skills turned him back to his bedroom. Maybe Connor would be awake, and he’d be able to spend some more time with him before settling down with a bowl of cereal or a microwavable meal.

Unfortunately, though not inconveniently, Connor appeared asleep. In the half hour or so Hank took to shower and doll himself up, Connor managed to completely dishevel his hair, flipped over on his back, pulled his shirt up to expose his tummy, wiggled to the center of the mattress, fought Sumo for dominance over the bed and won, leaving him to wait in the kitchen near his bowl.

Hank shook his head to clear out the less than wholesome thoughts accumulating in it the longer he stood staring. There were things to be done. Dogs to walk. TV dinners to consume. He didn’t have time to wonder what’s the worst that could happen if he woke him up. No time to run his eyes over the vulnerable part of his stomach and wonder what those two small discolorations near his side were. Not a moment to spare whatsoever, so he got going.

Sumo all but inhaled his food the instant Hank poured it in his dish. His cone didn’t keep him from eating to his heart’s desire in the least- if anything, having a rim around the floor as he ate kept any stray kibbles from being flung under the fridge or into any other inaccessible areas.

Shortly after demolishing his food and water, and after watching Hank finish his cereal, Sumo sat at his feet to whine for his walk. Hank woke up late, after all. Not that Sumo minded spending extra nap time with his dad, but since he was up and about, he figured they might as well get going.

“Sorry, buddy.” Hank gave Sumo’s cone a snug adjustment, fixing it after putting on his leash. “If you ate your sock, I’d never hear the end of it.”

Cone or no cone, after getting outside Sumo paid less attention to the plastic around his head and focused on his usual leaf-chasing and leash-tugging. The weather got colder and colder by the day, and if he didn’t get as much energy and curiosity out of his system as possible, he’d have to bottle everything up until spring. Thankfully, his paw only bothered him when walking on gravel or otherwise rough terrain, meaning his usual activities wouldn’t have to be sacrificed for comfort or healing time.

Rounding a familiar corner, Hank’s steady walk slowed down to a painful crawl that eventually stopped before the remains of a burned down house; the same house he found Connor’s lifeless body slumped against. Nothing but the vague structure, melting siding, and singed ground surrounded by piles of dark ash that still smelled of burned wood and musty furniture. The sight left a heavy feeling in the pit of Hank’s stomach, and even Sumo, the dog who trotted through clearly visible glass quite recently, took one look at the burned mess and refused to walk on the dead grass around the property.

The wind from earlier stopped long enough for Hank’s unease to grow and fester in the silence. The fire must have been caused by another person- it’d been abandoned and without any electricity or gas to start one on its own. Someone purposely burned down the location where a man with no memories and no identity was found, and without any sort of lead, it could have happened for any reason: Just for fun. Because it’s easy to get away with. Who’s going to care about a house nobody’s lived in for ages going up in flames? Who’d give it more than five minutes of thought?

Who would care if someone with no identity was never seen again?

Anxiety urged Hank to push onward, each step moving with more haste than the last. Just the idea of it somehow being related to Connor made his guts twist up in rotten knots. The fire could’ve been meant for him. Or meant as a warning. A signal? And what about all plant life on the property dying not too long ago, and the way Connor reacted to it?

He wanted to go home. To see him. To assure him everything would be okay, despite Connor not knowing why Hank felt this way. Connor nearly broke down crying in his arms after seeing the house’s dilapidated state, and Hank still didn’t entirely know why. It **had** to mean something. Its destruction **must** have been related to him, one way or another.

The instant the door opened, and the moment Hank locked eyes with Connor, an all but overwhelming sense of relief filled all those empty pockets of anxiety in his chest and made him lightheaded. _He’s okay. He’s here._ ~~Why wouldn’t he be? Where else would he go?~~

“You’re back already?” Connor asked, leaning back from the kitchen sink in order to see the front door. “It’s only been ten minutes.”

“Too cold for a longer walk.” Out of habit, Hank let Sumo off his leash and allowed him to run off, get a drink and curl up near a vent to warm his still chilled pelt. Nothing appeared out of place, and yet Hank couldn’t shake his unease. He came home and saw Connor like he would any other day. He shut the door, set the leash aside and went to look in the fridge, just like after any walk. He heard Connor turn on the sink, same as…

Since when did Connor become part of his daily routine?

 _Since I let him live with me_ , he thought on his way to join everyone in the kitchen. _Since he became my friend. Since he started cooking for me every day. Since we shared a bed._

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cook you anything?”

“I'm good," he replied while elbow-deep in the fridge. “What’re you in the mood for?”

“Oh, I-“ Connor clung to his side, scanning shelves in the fridge as well but kept the majority of his attention on Hank. “I’ll eat anything you make.”

Anything aside from meat, he assumed. “You the kinda person who’d have a smoothie for breakfast?” He asked halfway through reaching for a container of yogurt that probably hadn’t expired yet.

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t be.” Those kinds of drinks tend to be fairly light and easy to keep down.

Upon further inspection of the yogurt (via sticking a finger in it), Hank concluded it to be safe for human consumption. No foul smell or taste. Just plain vanilla. “So there’s a good chance you wouldn’t die if I made you a fruit smoothie?”

“There are better odds of me sprouting wings than dying from a drink.”

“Guess we’re taking our chances,” he said, closing the fridge behind him and bringing the yogurt on his search for the blender.

Connor wasn’t asked to bring any juice or ice or fruit, but he did so anyway. He was supposed to be waiting patiently on the couch or anywhere his little heart desired, and he chose instead to help Hank. He could have stayed in bed all day, and he decided to get up and moving when he knew Hank would be doing the same. Somehow, none of this came as a shock to Hank. Having a cute younger guy follow him around like a puppy was the norm. God forbid if he woke up one day and Connor left without telling him. He’d be devastated. Heartbroken. Pissed beyond belief if he left without a word, yet completely understanding of his desire to be elsewhere.

“You ain’t allergic to any fruit, are ya?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

Thank goodness he wouldn’t do that. If he wanted to leave, Hank knew he’d say something. At the very least, he’d leave a note.

“If this thing goes up in flames, hit the deck and don’t come up until I say so.”

“Got it.”

Since when did Connor become part of his routine?

Since he started wanting to look after him.


	15. Inexplicable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna be 100% real with y'all. i rewrote this chapter like 6 times. i hate it. i'm tired of editing it. i figured i might as well quit and just get it out of the way :v we all write bad stuff every now and then, yeah?
> 
> as much as i'd like to tell you to ignore the update, there are some "relevant plot points" here. so uh. sorry about that. you probably won't miss much if you wait for the next one tbh. honestly looking forward to it since i've been planning the next couple things since i started writing this
> 
> anyway. sorry for rambling. thanks for reading. love ya

“Slow down, it’s not goin’ anywhere.”

Despite his words of wisdom, Connor all but inhaled the last of his purplish smoothie from the bottom of his glass through a straw, making that distinct ‘there’s still a little left’ slurping noise; The same kind you hear when you’re desperately trying to finish a milkshake, only for the remains to cling to the bottom edges of your cup, silently taunting both you and your straw.

“Sorry,” Connor said, wiping his mouth and setting his glass on the coffee table.

“Just try not to drown, arrite?” His phone went off, prompting him to retrieve it from his lap. He’d been texting Kamski back and forth about the house ever since the smoothie experiment proved successful, and after a bit of radio silence, they may have come to a conclusion.

 **Kamski:** can’t you start an investigation?

 **Hank:** Not my call. That’d be like telling the police your neighbors were robbed last week. They won’t do anything about it.

 **Kamski:** you can’t even ask one of your cop buddies to look into it? like gavin?

Gavin? Did he mean **that** Gavin? The same Gavin who passed out face-down-ass-up in a cooler during that one Fourth of July barbecue?

 **Hank:** It’s not like I can call him while he’s at work.

 **Kamski:** text him. he’ll see it eventually

There really were no excuses for him not to get in touch with that rat bastard.

Making his way through his contacts, Hank let out an exaggerated sigh. What do you even say to someone you haven’t spoken to in about a year? Someone you were never close with in the first place, at that.

 **Hank:** Hey, how’ve you been?

No, that wouldn’t work. Somehow, it gave off a vibe of Hank wanting something- which he did, but he didn’t want to make it obvious unless he were to do so intentionally.

 **Hank:** I know we haven’t talked in a while, but

At most, he may have spoken five-hundred words to Gavin in total, and that’s being generous. ‘In a while’ didn’t quite cut it.

 **Hank:** It’s Hank. I need favor. I can pay you back.

He pushed send and snapped his phone shut. If the offer of some kind of pay didn’t grab his attention, nothing would.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Nah,” Hank said, setting his device back down on the convenience of his lap. “Just trying to convince an old friend to do me a favor.”

Speak of the devil-

 **Gavin:** What the hell do you want

At least he knew he had the right number.

Though slow and monotonous, Hank managed to give a vague explanation telling Gavin everything he needed to know; the house’s address, when he last saw it standing, among other details. Whether he’d bite or not more than likely depended on his financial situation.

 **Gavin:** Whos your new girlfriend

Hank did a double-take, then proceeded to squint at the message that might as well have flown out of his screen and smacked him in the head. There were, at the very least, two things wrong with his response, not including the lack of punctuation.

 **Hank:** Don’t have one of those.

 **Gavin:** Boyfriend

Again with Hank being practically punched in the jaw- this time with a single word.

 **Hank:** No.

His thumb twitched at the ringing of his phone in his still-typing hand and answered it without a second thought, then went to the bathroom for privacy’s sake. It was too late to hang up. Too late to put it off for another day. A voice could already be heard on the other end. He **had** to talk to him if he wanted any results.

“H-”

“Who the f’ck was with you at the store?!”

Hank’s jaw clenched. The grating man’s voice on the other end might as well have sent him back to his desk, mulling over a pile of handwritten notes, trying to hide the fact that he drank himself into a coma the night before while the new guy went ballistic on the coffee machine. _Don’t yell at him. He’s just a rookie,_ ran through his head over and over again in the same deadpan tone.

Hank swallowed the taste of hard liquor he knew wasn’t there. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“I think it’s ALL my business! What, you think you can- can just retire after coming to work looking like you died a week ago, not speak to f’cking ANYONE in our circle for, like, a year, then Tina sees you walk around with some young piece of ass fawning all over you, and expect us to pretend nothin’ happened?”

“I-”

“I thought you’d punched your own ticket, man. Lots of us did. So, excuse me for wantin’ t’ know who dragged you out of your hell.”

“…Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, you better be.” Gavin’s tone lightened some after getting all that out of his system, going from pissed to miffed to mildly annoying yet friendly. “Man, I can’t believe you’re still kickin’! What’s up? Are you and the mystery person serious?”

“I didn’t call you to talk about my day.”

“Right, I know, you need to get shit done. But you _are_ going to tell me eventually, aren’t ya?”

“Eventually.”

Brief words were shared concerning Hank’s current condition and Gavin’s life after working without him, and before long the conversation ended, leaving Hank to breathe a sigh of relief. It was something. A beginning. A gateway to answers, or at least he’d like to think so.

If he was already in the bathroom, Hank figured he might as well use it, and amidst washing his hands, his eyes drifted over to the lipstick sitting on the sink. Day after day it sat there, ready to be knocked into the sink’s basin, untouched and unused. It’d have collected dust if Connor didn’t keep everything so spotless.

The softest pang of guilt poked at Hank’s chest, prompting him to leave before it turned into an actual problem.

* * *

For better or worse, time marched on as normal. Also normal for your average November in Michigan, the sun completely vanished by five in the evening, leaving the outdoors as cold as it was dark. A sprinkling of dry snow tapped on the windows, distracting from the ever-present television on in the background to fight off the quiet. Hank convinced Connor to take it easy and not make dinner for once. In return, though counterproductive to the proposed idea of him relaxing, Connor took on the task of changing the protective pink sock covering Sumo’s healing stitches.

“You seem down, Lieutenant.”

Hank glanced up from his sorry-looking plate of eggs, eyes falling on Sumo sticking his paw in Connor’s hand, obediently allowing the replacement sock to be slipped on by the man kneeling before him. “Wouldn’t say I’m down,” he said, giving his plate a few taps with a fork. “Just tired. Tired without doin’ anything today.” Tired of waiting around for his phone to ring.

“Tired is tired, no matter what you’ve done.” He gave Sumo’s paw a little shake before letting him go and standing up, then heading over to Hank with a curious look. “Is there any way I can help?”

“I’ll get over it.”

Sumo, after finally having his foot free, stood up and walked over to Hank as he poked at his plate with a fork, and rested his head on his leg. Then before Hank’s hand could rest on his soft little forehead, he let out the longest, most pleading whine all while looking up at him with those puppy eyes so many people fell in love with over the years.

“No, it’s too dark for that.”

Sumo huffed, then turned around and ran off to the tiny room near the back where the magical process of laundry was done. From there, he could be heard scratching at the back door.

“Should I let him out?”

“I got it.”

The laundry room already felt cramped with the washer, dryer, and ironing board all stuffed into a space unable to comfortably contain more than three people. With a big old dog and a bigger, older man inside, Hank couldn’t make it to the door without nearly tripping over Sumo in the process.

“Easy there,” he muttered, gently moving Sumo aside with one hand and reaching for the door with the other. “You’ll knock me over if you keep jumpin’ around.”

With the door wide open, you’d assume an animal so excited to go outside would dart out and not look back. Sumo, in all of his wisdom, instead decided that the world beyond his home was too dark for him to traverse. Once again, his eyes fell on Hank, and he let out a similar whine as before, only this time accompanied with the impatient tapping of his paws on the short, brown carpet of the laundry room, and the gentle wagging of his tail.

Hank wouldn’t want to use the restroom in the dark either, and turning on the back light would scare away cats or birds or-

A pair of eyes.

In less than a heartbeat, less than the amount of time it took for Hank to flick the light on, he saw them. Silver eyes surrounded by the silhouette of a person around his height. Close enough for him to breathe on. Close enough for Hank to feel their presence and weight in the air.

The moment he saw them, in the moment the light came on and the yard became visible, they were gone. No trace of anyone. No footprints in the snow. Nothing for his breath to touch but the cold, stale air of the windless evening as snowflakes continued to fall interrupted where the entity once stood.

Hank swallowed hard- the action about suffocating him with how hard it pushed against his pounding heart. How the hell was he supposed to rationalize what he saw? It couldn’t have been a reflection; nothing out there shined such a bright shade of silver, and even fewer things looked unmistakably like eyes. Sumo didn’t react to it, either. He ran out after the light came on and sniffed around in the snow-dusted grass, unfazed by any being or lack thereof even after reentering the house and walking right over where it appeared.

“You’re letting all the cold air in,” Connor said amidst weaving between the two to pull the door shut.

Hank moved aside, mumbling out a ‘yeah’ as his response. He didn’t see it either? Not a mention or passing glance?

“I’m sorry again about last night-” Connor began, his eyes shifting down mid-sentence, “-if that’s what’s been bothering you.”

“I told you already, it’s fine.” He stepped back into the washing machine behind him, allowing Sumo to squeeze by. “It sure as hell beats waking up to dog breath.”

“Still…” His gaze returned to meet Hank’s. “I know you have a lot on your mind is all.”

 _Sure, go ahead and tell him you’re seeing shit now._ “Thought I saw someone in the backyard.”

If Connor would tell him without a hint of irony that he’s his guardian angel, then admitting the truth couldn’t do any harm.

Not as much harm if there actually _was_ a person there and he said nothing at all.

Connor’s face momentarily scrunched up into a puzzled expression. “What did they look like?”

“Just a tall silhouette with eyes; only saw it for a second.”

While he spoke, Connor poked his head outside. “May I ask what color they were?”

“Uhh…” They were unnatural looking for sure. Big, empty, and gleaming with a single shade of- “Either silver or a really light blue.”

He shut the door and gave the handle a jiggle to make sure it locked properly. “Well… The good news is I didn’t see anyone.”

“And the bad news?”

“I’m not sure if you’ll consider the absence of a person you thought you saw ‘good news’.”

Hank let out a sigh through his nose, then made his way out of the cramped room. “I’m not too worried about it, honestly.” Phantom eyes were the least of his problems, and he’d like to keep it that way. “Worst case scenario, I actually saw some shit, and I get to beat the hell out of a ghost.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Connor chimed in, following behind soon after.

“You don’t think I could take a ghost in a fight?”

“I’m not doubting your ghost-fighting abilities; I’m saying I would rather not see you get hurt, by an anomaly or otherwise.” He paused mid-stride, remaining silent while Hank walked around Sumo, who lie sprawled out on the kitchen floor. Brown eyes drifted over to the window in the kitchen, watching the snow fall and pile up on the windowsill, gradually building up until a breeze blew the frozen powder away. Not even the biggest clumps audibly tapping against the window looked like eyes, much less a figure containing them.

While arguably more unusual things had happened, for once, it wasn’t directly connected to Connor.


	16. Cast Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh chapter not as good as planned but was still fun to write. if there's typos i'm sorry;;;
> 
> thanks for reading
> 
> zzz

“Is there anything you need me to do while you’re out?”

Nothing good would come of leaving the house empty with all the mysterious events taking place in such a short span of time.

“Just hang tight until I get back, okay?”

If nothing happened at all, then Connor and Sumo would get the house to themselves for a while.

“Got it.”

Gavin lived closer to downtown, right past a graveyard. _I’ll be there until nine tonight,_ he told Hank. He’d always preferred the night shift, even if it meant staying up all day messing around instead of sleeping and going to work half-unconscious. As unhealthy as it was, with the way Hank spent his last year or so at work hungover and one breakdown away from leaping in front of an active shooter, he didn’t have a place to tell Gavin how to live his life.

The pathway leading to the front door had been salted, clearing the snow, and a little welcome mat decorated the porch all by itself. Unlike the houses neighboring, the paint wasn’t peeling and not a single window cracked. It looked like an actual, real adult lived there, and not a man who ate donuts he found in his desk after returning from a weekend break.

Hank rang the doorbell and awaited the inevitable haphazard scrambling from within, only for the dull ringing to fade away into a deafening silence. Maybe Gavin couldn’t hear it? Then, would the banging on his door grab his attention? No? Still nothing? Not even giving the doorknob a little jiggle caused a reaction of any kind. No footsteps. No shuffling. No cursing or stomping. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed with the only audible sounds being the occasional passing car or gust of wind tossing Hank’s hair about.

As his last legal resort, and the only last resort he had, he figured tapping on the window would do better than him driving off in a frustrated fit. If the curtains inside weren’t absolutely pitch fucking black, he might’ve actually been able to grab his attention after a few taps with his knuckle. Alas, he stood among dead, snowy bushes, his shoes and pants scraped by the dried leaves and frozen branches, and he drew closer to giving up, going home, and whining to Connor until things got better.

If only the eyes hadn’t made a return.

Right behind the glass.

In front of the curtain.

With no other witnesses.

They weren’t hovering at brow-level, and they were bright green, but they were real. Hank could see his reflection in them. They _blinked_ at him. The eyes were there, and Hank was ready. Ready for what, he didn’t yet know, though he’d find out soon enough if Gavin would **open the damn door.** He’d show them not to manifest at his house. Teach them not to stand behind the curtain of a guy with one foot in jail and the other in a large soft drink.

Hank rattled the doorknob some more, keeping his head locked in the direction of the being. _You said you’d be here. Liar._ God, why did he even expect any less from Gavin? Fucking Gavin Reed, of all people. He probably fell asleep on the couch, perfectly obscured by the pitch-black curtains and demonic little eyes still looking up at Hank, as if emphasizing his inability to enter the house without breaking something. Just looking at them made his blood boil, and after staring for so long, each and every detail got under his skin- How small they were. How infrequently they blinked. Their lack of movement. The unusually-shaped pupils. The… bit of pink… that flashed right below them…

…Wasn’t Gavin a cat person?

The entity then proceeded to yawn, showing off its many needle-like teeth, the back of its throat, and the gaping maw of a pink abyss.

Definitely a cat.

Still possibly a demon.

Hank knelt down to meet the creature at its own level, and it was then he saw where the animal ended and the dark curtains began. It had the most round, stupid face and empty eyes that might as well have emanated elevator music. He couldn’t tell what it was thinking or if it felt threatened by his presence. Only the blank expression of a clueless creature came clear through the window, as did the reflection of a disappointed old man.

Few things were learned from this encounter. Hank realized Gavin wasn’t home, and a harmless fuzzball gave him a heart attack. He could’ve gotten the exact same experience by staying home and leaving the fridge open with Sumo around.

Figuring he’d wasted enough time standing outside being upset, Hank made his way back home. If he wanted this done right, he’d have to do it himself. It’d be just like old times, only the folks down at city hall might not be as cooperative since he retired from the force. This also meant a lot more work on his end, plus whatever strings needed pulling for him to finally connect a few dots.

Work meant less sleep. Less sleep meant less energy. Less energy meant Connor would undoubtedly notice his struggle and attempt to help, dragging him down into Hank’s problems. How hard was it for him to leave everyone alone? Couldn’t he go one day without bothering him?

He shook his head and stopped gripping the wheel like he was trying to strangle it. Nothing good would come of thinking that way, even if he thought of his words as the truth in the moment. A new plan needed formulating. First things first, Hank had to get home and ask Connor what he thought. Another brain to think things through couldn’t hurt, especially when it belonged to someone so levelheaded and understanding. Talking the situation over with him would help enough on its own, whether he had any advice to give or not. Watching him nod, his attentive eyes, those little smiles and hums of approval, the way he tilted his head to one side while listening accompanied by him tapping on a nearby surface… Hank could see it all far before he made it to his street, and it put the dumbest smile on his face.

Also seen before returning, he noticed he wouldn’t be speaking with Connor alone.

Arriving home, Connor wasn’t the only one standing on the porch. Another, unsurprisingly taller individual with scruffy brown hair and a five o’clock shadow stood on the front porch with his arms crossed. Narrowed eyes watched Hank exit his car while Connor remained stationed in front of the door, not seeming to mind the cold through his borrowed shirt and baggy pants.

“It’s about damn time you showed up,” he grumbled in a familiar way, his voice untainted by the white noise of a phone.

Which brought them to the most relevant question. “You couldn’t have called instead of letting me stand outside your house like an idiot?”

Gavin shrugged, glancing to one side. “I thought I coulda got here before you.”

“That’s a first,” Hank said while gesturing for Connor to move aside.

“What is?”

“You thinking.” The door opened, showing off a very sleepy Sumo resting on the couch. After spotting a new guest, he picked his head up and slowly wagged his tail in anticipation. Three people meant three times as much attention, did it not?

“Kinda wanted to talk to you out here.” Gavin reached into his jacket pocket and produced a half-crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “And I don’t wanna smoke around your dog.”

Unprompted, Connor stepped inside. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

“This’ll only take a minute,” Hank told him before the door shut. He heard Sumo get up off the couch and prance around for a bit, and Connor hushed any loud boofs or barks he let out.

“Where’d you even find this guy?”

“On the verge of death and behind the house I wanted you to investigate.”

“Figures.” He half-shrugged. “What is it about you that attracts, like, dying younger guys?” A few clicks of his lighter finally got it burning, and it wasn’t long at all until grey smoke curled up and up and up. “Actually, I don’t wanna know. Just tell me why he’s here wearin’ one o’ your band shirts.”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I got time,” he responded sharply. “B’sides, we have some catchin’ up to do, don'tcha think?”

Hank did his damnedest to stifle the groan rising up in the back of his throat. If it was catching up he wanted, then catching up is what he’d get. “Arright. This all started during a quick walk around the block…”

In an unorganized, haphazard sort of way, he started from the beginning; finding Connor, discovering his amnesia and undoubtably unpleasant past, the recent car accident, Sumo’s injury, and so on. Though, not in _excruciating_ detail. Gavin didn’t need to know about certain feelings that may or may not be there, or… various events involving Connor.

For quite possibly the first time witnessed by another human being, Gavin hung onto each and every word, even going so far as neglecting his smoke entirely and letting it burn down to the filter without bringing it up to his lips. Cold ashes blew away in the wind, blending in with what little snow clung to the ground and becoming more and more indistinguishable the longer Hank spoke.

With the entire story out in the open, none of the events sounded nearly as hectic or chaotic as when first experienced. It felt like he talked too much and should have stopped a minute ago, but at the same time he wanted to go on and on in a desperate attempt to get all the details straight.

“I knew that kid gave me the creeps for a reason,” Gavin said, stuffing the wasted cigarette butt in his jacket pocket.

“Why’s that?”

“Doesn’t matter-” he eyed the door and hushed his tone, “-I just think it’s sus’ to be lettin’ a stranger live with you is all.”

“H-”

“And how about that car crash you were in with him? You don’t seem real shaken up about it, considering. Uh. **That**.”

Biting his tongue, Hank shrugged. “You been in one accident, you’ve been in ‘em all.”

A short pause, followed by a defeated sigh, broke the flow of Gavin reaching into his leather jacket’s pocket. “Here.” He held out his closed fist to Hank. “You still have that old laptop, right?”

“Yeah.” Somewhere.

“Cool, cool.” A generic black flash drive into his waiting palm. “Just a heads up, there’s nothin’ really interesting about the previous owners. You coulda found all that shit out by looking it up yourself.”

Damn. “Thanks anyway, Gavin.”

“Hey, don’t thank me yet. I dragged Tina into this ‘private investigation’ you started. We’ll let ya know when we find something that’s, like, actually useful.” He smiled, still hugging his arms to his chest from the cold, though for a moment he didn’t look so bothered by it.

“...Wait, so did me info-dumping count as payment or-?”

“Sure, whatever.”

And off he went without another word, a second cigarette already in hand, down the street to where he’d parked, and drove off in the opposite direction of his house.

Thus concluding Hank’s encounter with the rat man.

“Hey Connor,” he called after stepping inside, “you wanna help me find somethin’ real quick?”

* * *

Hank didn’t venture into the basement often. A small portion of the unfinished space consisted of multicolored plastic containers filled with a wide variety of knick-knacks, tchotchkes, and regular old junk he’d been neglecting to toss for one reason or another. One had a bag of loose change and a dried-up Detroit Zoo snow globe perched on top. Another held up a set of Matryoshka dolls with the smallest one missing. The rest of the basement was too dark to see- the single lightbulb dangling up above only illuminated the containers and the fuse box at the back.

“It _should_ be in one of these,” Hank said, setting the snow globe and change bag on the ground, “You can just pop ‘em open and rummage around. I got nothin’ to hide.” Except for… “Actually, if you find a blue shoe box tied shut with a bunch of rubber bands, don’t open it.”

“I won’t,” Connor replied with half his torso in a box, and the lower half of his body leaning into it, threatening to fall inside.

What a dork.

The one Hank opened didn’t have what he wanted, but it _did_ have a stack of old board games and… tarot cards? Yeah, just a deck of unopened tarot cards.

“I found it-” he struggled for footing to escape his plastic prison and managed to gain traction right before Hank wanted to step in, “-unless you have another one somewhere.”

“Nah, that’s it.” Grey. Chunky. Old as the hills. “Got a charger in there?” Like someone Connor knew.

"Um-" from the same box, he pulled out a long, black cord that'd been twisted up to save space, "-is this it?"

"Yep." Laptop. Charger. Flash drive. That was everything. "Thanks for doin' pretty much all the work for me."

"I'm only doing what you asked."

Hank took the tech into his arms and avoided delivering a swift kick to the snow globe on the ground. Did it even matter if it broke? It was empty, and useless as a snow globe. But, still, that didn't mean he could break it.

Even if he really, really wanted to.

Connor too had to watch his footing to prevent kicking the snow globe across the basement, and instead of leaving it on the ground like a certain somebody, he picked it up and put it back on a container, along with the bag of change. “Is the zoo open this time of year?”

Hank stopped at the top of the stairs. “Should be.” Last time he went there was a few years back in November, coincidentally. “I take it you’ve never been?”

Quick footsteps followed him back to the kitchen, where he decided to set up the laptop's temporary new home on the counter. “I don’t think so, no.”

He let out a thoughtful hum while plugging in the laptop, and a small light on the side blinked a pretty shade of blue when he did. “You think you’d wanna go sometime? When we get more shit sorted out, I mean.” Moment of truth. He pried the half-stuck screen open, and through the work of some higher power or another, it lit up with a similar shade of blue, and a password authentication bar popped up soon after. “I used to visit a lot before the, uh-” he cleared his throat, “-you know. Before.”

“The animals aren’t all in cages, are they? Like in cartoons?”

“Nah, they got these big ass fancy enclosures.” With a few keystrokes, he was greeted with the same default ocean background as when he turned on the laptop for the first time. “The polar bears have this huge underwater exhibit where ya walk through a glass tube and see ‘em swimming around and stuff.”

A heavy pause filled the air with silence long enough for Hank to grow concerned. Then, Connor looked up at him, his eyes shining with enthusiasm and mouth one second away from turning into a smile. “I want to see the bear tube with you.”

Hank took a moment to respond. A long moment. He just… didn’t know what to say to that. To any of him. He looked so happy at the simplest idea of going somewhere with Hank- **specifically** with him. _With you. With you. With you._ As silly as it sounded in context, it still filled his stomach with all manner of butterflies and a few confused moths.

“We can see the bear tube.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bear tube bear tube bear tube  
> tuuuuuuube of bear

**Author's Note:**

> @littlemarbles39 on twitter
> 
> you should follow me if you wanna see me rt cute dbh art  
> i don't talk much, but i'd like to


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